


Kingdom

by ClumsyChicken



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, Warcraft III, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Femslash February, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, POV First Person, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Present Tense, Sylvanas Windrunner - Freeform, Tirion Fordring - Freeform, Trans Female Character, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-03-25 06:59:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 45,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13828935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClumsyChicken/pseuds/ClumsyChicken
Summary: The love between Jaina and Arthas, Crown Princess of Lordaeron, is steadfast—from a blossoming teen romance to an unbreakable bond. But when Arthas treads a path that threatens it all, Jaina must rely on her passion, devotion, and intellect to bring them to safety—whether fate likes it or not. A relationship with a Crown Princess is a tumultuous thing indeed.





	1. Chapter 1

I wet my lips, quill struggling to keep up with my mind. I glance at the book passage while my hand keeps writing. Finishing the sentence in my notebook, I scribble a note in the margin as well. Then I scrutinize my hasty scribbles. It's almost there. If I can just put together all these little puzzle pieces, I'll have a complete image—an image with a far greater depth of field, one that'll tell a more complex story. She reaches over and puts the quill I abandoned back in its holder.

   My gaze shifts back and forth between my notes and my book. My head feels leaden, my mind hazy. I take a sip of my still lukewarm cup of tea. If I were to turn in now, one of two things would happen; either I'd wake with a fresh set of eyes and the energy to complete the puzzle, or I'd wake with no idea what any of my messy notes are even talking about. I can't risk the latter. No way. As I sift through my writing, it occurs to me; perhaps I already have all the pieces. Perhaps it's not a brand-new puzzle, but instead its pieces fit into images that I've already studied. They would plug into my incantations like powerful glyphs, augmenting them. Perhaps this is enough?

   "Wait, wait, hold on," she says. My gaze snaps up. Holding up her index finger, she grabs her quill with a wrinkle between her brows.

   "I think I've got something, here." My curiosity pierces the mind-fog. She scribbles a new note alongside the hundreds of others in the margins, next to a section of text that I'd merely glossed over. I can't rule out that I might have dismissed it all too quickly. She finishes writing, stuffs the quill back in its holder, and leans back in her seat with her arms crossed.

   I lean over to read her note. ' _My name is Jaina Proudmoore and I study too much_ ' it says, a little smiling face with its tongue out drawn below it. I scoff and glare at her, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. Her own grin is stuck somewhere between smug and sheepish. I put my hand on her shoulder and place a kiss on her marked jawline. Her smile grows more genuine, and she turns to face me. Our lips meet and butterflies flutter through my stomach. I close my eyes. She puts her calloused palm on my waist, and the butterflies do little somersaults. Pulling back with a deep sigh, I poke her nose with my finger.

   "You're right, Arthas. Come on, I think I'm ready to give it another shot," I say. I take her hand in mine and we rise together. We stride out the door, skip down the stairs already illuminated by orange candlelight, and step outside on the damp, fragrant lawn. The sky above has turned shades of pink and purple while we were gone. I let go of her and shake my hands in an attempt to limber up. She yawns and stretches her arms above her head, eventually letting her hands settle behind her head. Her linen shirt rides up in the process, blessing me with a glimpse of her abs. While my insides turn warm and fuzzy, I try to concentrate.

   I plant my feet on the grass, close my eyes, and breathe deeply. The breeze rustles the crown of the oak trees by our side. Birds chirp on the roof behind us. I furrow my brows and hold my hands out in front of me. Shivers run down my spine and electricity tingles through my fingers. I channel the elements. The dew clinging to the grass quivers and pulls towards me. My mana evaporates with my breath. This time, I utter a different incantation. I channel the energy into a different shape. I construct the beast from the bottom up instead of visualizing the whole thing from the get-go.

   A sharp exhalation rocks through my body, and I open my eyes. The creature takes shape right in front of us. My eyes widen—the water elemental is so much bigger than it was this afternoon. Breath stalled, I creep towards it, hand reaching out in front of me. It doesn't mind when I touch it; it merely glances at me with its eyeless face. Its watery body no longer unravels wherever I touch it. Instead, it moulds and changes its form around it, reforming it when I withdraw my hand. It's incredibly stable—especially in comparison.

   "It's huge," Arthas says, gawking at it. I turn back towards her, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.

   "It worked!" I exclaim with a little hop. Her face lights up right alongside mine. "I was right! The typical incantations and channeling methods just aren't effective enough, this is so much more stable," I gush. I skip towards her and throw myself into her arms. She squeezes me tight, lifts me up, and spins me around, leaving me giggling in her arms.

   "I told you, didn't I? I told you, you could do it! Who needs those stuffy, old wizards when we've got you?" she says. I gaze into her eyes—she's lifted me more than high enough to do so. I press my lips against hers, close my eyes, and wrap my legs around her broad waist. I can still taste that fragrant black tea on her lips and on her tongue. My stomach tingles and I smile through our kiss. I could stay here, in her arms, wrapped around her forever. It feels like the most natural thing in the world.

 

*

 

The large tome rests on lap, squishing my thighs into the grass. My quill hovers over a fresh patch of parchment, words dancing on the tip of my tongue. I swallow them and continue gaping instead. Shielded from the sun by the leaves above me, my eyes are glued to her back. Watching her muscles work is like studying a feat of natural engineering. Uther taps her shoulder and she wipes the sweat off her brow. I can't hear what he's saying from here, but I know that expression. 'That was good, but I know you can do better, princess. Keep your head in the game,' I imagine him saying. Arthas rubs the nape of her neck and stares at the ground—I probably wasn’t that far off.

   My breath stalls when she grabs hold of her long, blonde hair and lifts it off of her back. She ties it into a messy bun with the leather strip that was wrapped around her wrist. Her shoulder and upper back muscles are now in full view. My stomach tingles and I have to remind myself to breathe. Uther motions for her to watch him. He demonstrates a rather flashy move, and they slowly go over each step with their mauls. He corrects her stance a little bit, and I can almost see her pout from here. Finally, she tries it herself on the dummy, holding nothing back. I curl my toes when the solid dummy all but crumbles underneath her pummeling.

   There's no big whoop between them. They merely nod at one another, and Uther gives her a fatherly slap on the shoulder. They part and Arthas finally turns in my direction. Our eyes meet and electricity shoots through my body—from my throat and all the way into my toes. She smiles. Not the slightly smug, crooked one she usually wears, but a sugary sweet one that hatches new butterflies in my stomach. I can't help but return it, albeit sheepishly. She rests her maul on her shoulder and swaggers towards me. Even before she arrives by my feet, she towers over me.

   "Working hard?" she asks with a twinkle in her eye and sets down her maul on the grass beside me.

   "I could ask you the same thing," I say, gazing down at my abandoned notes and reading material. The ink on the tip of my quill has long since dried out by now.

   "Do you want to go do something more fun?" she asks and scratches her jaw. "Are you hungry?" I tilt my head at her.

   "I thought you were busy training," I say. She shrugs.

   "We’re taking a little break. You know how it is. Uther’s an old man, he gets _so_ tired," she says. And there it is. That crooked smirk.

   "Definitely not a mutual agreement," I say, eyeing the sweat still glistening on her skin.

   "Definitely not," she says with exaggerated eye-roll. With a little sigh, I close the book, using my stack of notes as a bookmark, and put it down beside her maul. She immediately extends her hand to help me up, and I grab it in what becomes an effortless rise. When I get up, I don't let go of her warm hand. Instead, I start walking and simply pull her along.

   "Okay then, I can show you my favourite place to read," I purr.

   "You don't want lunch?" she asks. Now it's my turn to flash a crooked grin.

   "I already ate," I say.

   "Oh," she sighs. I drag her through the training grounds and gardens, never once letting go of her. Every step of the way, our mere presence attracts stares and concealed whispers. Royalty always seems to be a sight for sore eyes. I shrink, bow my head, and hurry myself under their gazes. She soaks it up. I finally straighten my back again when we reach my little hideout; a stone bench that sits underneath a huge oak tree, flanked by well-tended bushes. From here, we have a perfect view of the lake's cerulean waters, and we're completely sheltered and alone—besides the lakeshore opposite us.

   "Oh, so this is where you disappear off to," she muses. Her gaze scans our surroundings, taking in the scenery I've come to be so familiar with.

   "It's perfect for studying by all myself. It's always a bit more quiet here than anywhere else and—well, I'm sure you can already tell. And the tree shelters me from the rain," I explain. I sit down on the bench and she follows me, movements perfectly in sync with mine. With a deep sigh, I lean into her, resting my head on her shoulder. She wraps her arm around me, gives me a kiss on my hair, and strokes my arm with her fingers. My heartbeat evens out and I close my eyes. Somewhere nearby, a bird sings a little melody. A few trees down, another responds. Waves gently lick the shore, one by one. The scent of humid grass hangs thick in the air. But I can still smell the salty sweat on her, alongside the hint of lavender in her hair and her natural scent underneath. I'm willing to bet that I'll never forget that smell as long as I live.

   A sting in my gut punctures this paradise. Pressing my lips together, I nuzzle my head into her collar bone, and she squeezes me tighter. I look up at her while a little sigh creeps out of my throat. Her smile is gone. Our gazes are comparably somber.

   "I don't want to leave," I whisper. She rests her cheek on my head.

   "I know," she says. We stay like this for a dozen long seconds, breathing in unison. What I need and what I seek is in Dalaran, not here. But my body aches from the mere thought of being without this. Without her. For who knows how long. I swallow hard and clench my jaw to keep the prickling sensation in my tear ducts at bay.

   "It's for the best, I think," she says, tone lighter. "Then you can become an even more powerful mage. The very best in Azeroth." At that, a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.

   "I know," I say.

   "The strongest, the smartest, _and_ the cutest," she muses. I can’t help but giggle. "I'll make sure to come visit, of course," she says.

   "Do! Otherwise I'll be surrounded by nothing but boring old men. And _a lot_ of them," I say with a grimace. She mirrors my expression with an exaggerated scoff.

   "We can't have that," she says and shudders.

   "I'd die from boredom," I mutter, and now it's her turn to giggle. She closes her eyes laughing and covers her mouth with her fingers. My stomach turns fuzzy at the sight. I could listen to her forever.

   "You know, we should do something special before I leave," I say, twisting the hem of her shirt between my fingers. She tilts her head to the side.

   "Like what?"

   "I don't know. Like... maybe go somewhere nice and spending some time together, just the two of us," I say. There's that crooked smile again, and the fuzziness grows all-consuming.

   "You mean, like what we're doing right now?" she asks, raising her brows. I roll my eyes and attempt to pout.

   "Maybe you should just throw yourself in the lake or something. _There’s_ a send-off," I say, crossing my arms and my legs. She snorts and jabs a finger at me.

   "Don't tempt me, I'll do it," she says. I click my tongue.

   "I was joking, show-off." She stands up with a loud sigh and tightens the leather band keeping her hair up.

   "I can't believe you're daring me to do this," she says. I drag my palms down my face, but it doesn't stop the laughter building in my chest.

   "I'm not daring you," I say, voice bouncing with giggles. She saunters towards the lake, gesturing wildly as she speaks.

   "Unbelievable! You’re supposed to be such a nice, sweet girl, Jaina, and yet here you are, almost pushing the poor princess into the lake. For shame!" she narrates. I stand up to follow her, keeping the items in my pockets in place with my hands. I’m trying to keep my smile under control as well, but it's not quite working.

   "Fine, but I'm not helping you dry off afterwards," I state. She looks back at me with a gaze that makes my knees as weak as a gelatinous dessert.

   "Are you sure about that?" she purrs. I kick the dirt under a tuft of grass and lower my chin with a pout.

   "No," I mumble. Her smile widens, and she slowly pulls up her shirt as she strolls towards the shore. I almost have to sit back down as she reveals to me her voluminous back muscles. My breath has stalled completely.

   "That wasn't five minutes, Arthas," says a gruff voice behind me. I jump with a small gasp, and Arthas nearly falls over, shirt halfway pulled over her head. I spin around to see Uther glare at his royal student with an eyebrow cocked and his arms crossed. My cheeks catch fire, and my gaze shifts back and forth between the two. Arthas is blushing as hard as I am when she finally twists her shirt back down.

   "How did you—" she starts, but Uther interrupts her.

   "I saw you from the other side of the lake," he states with a huff, pointing to the opposite shore. I stare at her with wide eyes and a tight-lipped smile.

   "Imagine that!" I say.

   "Let's get back to it, princess. It's not your job to sit around and canoodle," he says. Arthas lowers her head a little.

   "Of course, Uther, my apologies. I'll be right with you," she says, amicable as ever. Uther eyes us both, turns on his heel, and strides away from our little oasis. Arthas rubs her nape with a deep sigh. My heart sinks with the thought of her following him already. I take a few steps towards her, and as soon as I’m in range, she places her hands firmly on my hips. I reach up and cup her cheeks. They shift with her smile. We kiss once more. Just a short one. I close my eyes. Her lips are soft and gentle against mine. My tongue peeks out to trace them and she lets me in. Our tongues caress and our breaths mingle. My heartbeat rushes through my ears, and my entire body feels light around my hammering heart. We part, and I rest my forehead against her chest.

   "You taste like mint," she whispers.

   "Oh? I did have a little bit of peppermint ice cream for dessert. I didn't think you could still taste that," I mutter. I suppose my breath is more minty fresh than I thought.

   "I should..." she says, already trailing off. My eyes fly open. The contents of my pocket suddenly feel heavy and burning hot.

   "Wait," I say. I shove my hand in said pocket and caress the smooth metal.

   "I—I was waiting for the perfect moment to give you this, but, really, I suppose any moment is fine—any moment is just as perfect, really. I keep just—it keeps—you know. Anyway. Here," I ramble, pull out the gold locket, and hand it to her. Her eyes widen and she wiggles her fingers at it like a covetous child.

   "Oh! How handsome," she says, plucking it from my grasp. She holds it up to the light, examining it in all its shimmering glory. My heart beats faster and the butterflies in my gut vibrate.

   "Thank you," she says, smiling brightly at me. I point at it.

   "Open it up," I say with a tiny voice. She furrows her brows and pinches it between her fingers.

   "Oh, it's a locket!" she exclaims. She quickly presses her nails against its sides. It clicks open. As she gazes upon its contents, her smile widens and her chest bounces with laughter. The butterflies turn into prickly little needles.

   "Hey, don't laugh!" I whine. She covers her mouth with her fingers.

   "It's you," she giggles. I cross my arms with a huff.

   "It was a lot of hard work getting such a tiny little painting," I say. She just keeps giggling. I press my lips together and cast my gaze to the grassy ground.

   "Well, if you don't like it, I can just—"

   "Are you kidding me? I love it," she interrupts. My gaze shoots back up and my cheeks catch fire. "It's adorable."

   "I figured I'd give you a little something to remember me by," I say, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet. She closes the locket and puts it on, carefully maneuvering the gold chain around her messy bun.

   "That's perfect. Thank you," she says, pressing another kiss to my lips. We part and simply gaze into each other's eyes for a few long moments.

   "Meet me at the library in a few hours? When you're done training?" I say with too much air. She blinks multitudinously, then nods.

   "Of course."

   "Then we can figure out what we should together before I leave."

   "I thought I was throwing myself in the lake?" she says with a smirk, pointing at it with her thumb.

   "Well, I’m sure you’ll still have plenty of time for that," I state. With a wink, she strides in Uther's footsteps. I'm left smiling from ear to ear, rocking back and forth. Then I realize I have to go the same way to pick up my book.

 

*

 

I brush the ice flakes off of my hands. The ogre runs back in the direction it came as fast as its massive legs can carry it. I don't even have to command my elemental to stay its hand. Our minds are as one, and it won't chase the brute down unless I demand it. With my hands swept clean, I reach into my cape and procure my pocket watch. I press my lips together—I'm later than I already was, thanks to those damned ogres. Trudging along the road once more, I try to calculate how late I'll end up being. It might be another five or even ten more minutes. I put the watch back in my cape pocket, look up, and stop dead in my tracks.

   Her face lights up as soon as our eyes meet. My heart skips a beat and struggles to find its rhythm again. I wring my hands, fiddle with a button on my cape, and smile right back. Five seconds in and my professional facade has already been smashed to pieces. I stride towards her and I can only hope my heavy steps don't betray my jelly knees and my quivering stomach. She turns and says something to one of her solider; I could swear it looks like 'I told you so'.

   "Gentlemen," she says and swings her maul over her shoulder. "Let me introduce you to Miss Jaina Proudmoore, special agent to the Kirin Tor, and one of the single most talented sorceresses in the land." She gestures towards me as if she was presenting a magnificent new statue in the town square. The soldiers all nod and mumble in acknowledgement. She eyes my elemental with a twinkle in her eye.

   "And it looks like you certainly haven't lost your touch. It's good to see you again," she says. Her gentle tone is like music to my ears—an old, familiar tune that warms my heart. Standing in front of me now, it's as if she has an aura of innate greatness. I tilt my head at her, smiling and trying to stop fiddling with my cape. So far my attempts are unsuccessful.

   "You too, Arthas. It's been a while since a princess escorted me anywhere," I say. Her smile nearly curls into a smirk. I can only imagine the memories going through her head. If they're anything like mine, she has every reason to be coy.

   "Yes, it has," she mutters. Our gazes linger. I pull at my cape with the urge to step forward and leap into her arms. Her eyes examine my face with an intensity I can only assume means that the feeling is mutual. But her soldiers are shuffling their feet and staring at us both. She clears her throat and clicks her tongue.

   "Well, I guess we should get moving," she says. I straighten my back and let go of my cape.

   "Yes, indeed. Our sources say that this plague originated in the region north of here. So I reckon we should investigate the villages along the King's Road," I say. Arthas nods along with her warriors. With a snap of my fingers, my elemental implodes into a simple puddle of water. Some of her warriors jump in place, and I have to hide my snort and giggle behind my collar.

   The soldiers form a loose formation in front of us in preparation for a long march. As soon as they turn their backs to us, Arthas and I gaze at each other once again. Fighting back all hesitation, I hop towards her and wrap my arms around her. She immediately returns the hug despite the ludicrous amount of plate mail between us. My fingers seek out the softer spots where plate doesn't cover her. Her breath and her warmth send shivers across my arms. She rests her head on my shoulder and I take in her scent. Her hair is even longer than I remember, but it still carries that whiff of lavender.

   We part, clear our throats, and adjust our hair and clothes before marching alongside her troops. A few of them quickly divert their gazes and look ahead as if they'd never once peeked. The urge to fiddle with my cape is all but gone.

 

*

 

I run my fingers through my hair and massage my scalp. My head is as heavy as a full suit of armour. I can barely see straight or think straight. At this point, the map looks like one big blob of beige, ink, and muted hues. With a deep sigh, I tear my gaze away. The tent is nearly pitch black. The single candle by my side is nowhere near enough to illuminate this entire space. Leaning against the designated map table, the cold finally sinks in. It's crept into my toes and fingers and only now do I notice. Not that I mind much. It’s so paltry compared to the ice I command. It is, however, dead quiet outside.

   I pick up my chamberstick and trudge out of the tent, carefully maneuvering the flame under the tent flap. My feet ache from being on them all day. Even now, maps and drawn lines and little troop figures are swimming past my mind's eye. I take a deep breath and let it out through rounded lips. I have to trust that the soldiers and strategists know what they're doing. I have to trust in Uther. I have to trust in Arthas most of all. If I don't, then who truly will? But the dark forest around us feels alive with the thoughts of scourge monsters and cultists. If the plague spreads further—if it reaches a place like Stratholme...

   I blow out my candle and put it down next to the several-kings-sized tent. I don't want to trudge on any longer, towards my own temporary abode. The mere thought punches a heavy void through my gut. Instead, I sneak inside and kick off my boots. Even in the dark, I can see Arthas' outline. She's propped up on- and surrounded by mountains of pillows and blankets. A smile tugs at my lips. If the cold has gripped even my toes, hers must be freezing off by now. I’m fiddle with the clasp of my cape when she shoots up and stares at me. I gasp and nearly yank the clasp off. She exhales harshly and drags her palms down her face.

   "You scared me," she mutters.

   "I'm so sorry," I whisper with a grimace. "I thought you were asleep." She plops back down while I finally manage to take my cloak off.

   "No such luck," she says. I twist off my shirt and my pants, leaving me in my undershirt, bodice, and cotton pantyhose. I climb into bed next to her and she tucks me into her blanket fort. It's very toasty down here. Arthas turns to face me.

   "A lot on your mind?" I ask, my voice barely beyond a whisper. She nods. I'm beginning to be able to properly make out her face in the dark.

   "And you?" she asks. I flash a weak smile.

   "Too much." She puts her hand on the small of my back and I scoot closer, pulled towards her by way of pure instinct. Settling into her grasp, my body reaches perfect blissful comfort—but my mind is still full of maps. No matter how much I try to breathe slowly and deeply and take in her scent and her warmth, these thoughts keep finding backdoors to slither back into my mind.

   "Do you have a good feeling about this at all, Arthas? Are you sure we're on the right track?" I mutter. She tenses against me. Silence reigns between us for a few moments before she answers.

   "I have to be sure. I have to trust that this will work—that what we're doing isn't all for nothing," she says. I press my lips together.

   "But do you believe in it? Really?" I ask. The silence between us is thick and sticky, causing my throat to feel like it's closing up.

   "We're all the people can count on right now, Jaina. If we fail..." she says, trailing off. I squeeze her shoulder—the muscle is rock hard with tension.

   "I know. It's okay," I whisper. She shakes her head and I brace myself—I know that expression very well by now.

   "It's as if people don't think I realize just how bad this is, but I do. I do. But if I don't fight this, then who will? Who's actually going to protect these people? They'd just let them die, completely unceremonious, and leave their deaths unavenged. It's ridiculous, and yet they think _I'm_ the unreasonable one. I—we can't just retreat and leave these people to that fate. We can't just—just—" she rambles.

   "It's okay," I repeat. She sighs harshly with her brows furrowed and her jaw set.

   "We have to fight this. We have no other choice," she whispers. I stroke her collar bone gently and rhythmically.

   "I guess I don't have to ask what's been keeping you up," I say. We stay silent in each other's grasps for a few moments. I soak up the warmth of her body and she plays with my hair, twirling it around her finger over and over. Were she anyone else, I'd tell her to stop. But I can feel her muscles ease up as she twirls.

   "At least you're here with me," she says. A sheepish smile spreads across my face and I brush a few long strands of hair away from her face.

   "You know, I was so, so thrilled to hear that you'd be the one accompanying me," I say, tone gentle and mushy. She cocks an eyebrow at me.

   "Was?" I exhale harshly and my smile widens.

   "Am. Am thrilled," I say.

   "Well, alright, you never know. I could've made some kind of blunder and not even noticed," she says. I nod with my lower lip jutting out.

   "That has been known to happen."

   "It sure has." I can't help but giggle at her.

   "I just wanted to throw myself at you and tell you about all the things I've learned since I last saw you," I muse, still picking at that collar bone. She examines my expression.

   "I'd still love to hear," she says. I raise my brows.

   "Really? Are you sure?" I ask. She nods with a big grin.

   "Yeah. I can't promise I'll understand any of it, but I'll listen hard," she says. My smile turns sheepish once again and I finally pick at my own collar bone instead.

   "Okay then, if you insist. Jeez, where should I even start..." I start by describing to her the most important parts of my discoveries about ice magic. Elemental magic is always such a joy to work with, but ice and water most of all. It molds itself to your will, your emotions, your expectations—an extension of your very being.

   As I explain all this to her, in far more detail than anyone but my teachers and the nerdiest of my fellow students would tolerate, my hand slides down her arm and settles on her waist. She's bigger than I remember. Both stronger and softer, as if she's filled out since I last saw her a few years ago. I've had the peace to study intensely for all these years, certainly, but now the myriad of thoughts I’ve had about her every morning, every evening, every slightly dull moment come rushing back through my head. Thoughts and fantasies about her laugh, her lips, those arms. What she’d say when I told her about everything I’d learned—how she’d look at me. Seeing her on the road, surrounded by her soldiers, tall and regal and powerful, she truly looked the part of the warrior princess. But in the quiet safety of her tent, she's still as familiar to me as my favourite book. My fingers curl around the gold locket that hangs from her neck, nestled on her bosom. It's just as shiny as it was when I gave it to her—only the fine chain shows a little wear. Its warmth seeps from my hands and all the way into my heart.

   Despite my chattering, tension still radiates off her. I slide my hand over her shoulder as I speak. Yep—the muscle is still hard as a golem's fist. My eyes settle on her face. Her green eyes only stray from mine to gaze upon my flapping lips. A warm, tingling sensation spreads from my torso and throughout my body until my cheeks heat up—and not because of the toasty temperatures of her blanket fort.

   "And? What's that do?" she asks. I realize I've finally stopped talking. My body guides me, as if Arthas has her own gravitational pull—to soothe the old aching void in my chest. To fill it once again with something better.

   I press my lips against hers, breathing already heavy. She takes a few seconds to catch on. Then she puts her hand on my hip and presses her body against mine. I almost gasp from the sensation. I trail my tongue over her lips and she lets me in. Our tongues caress—gently, but with a shared enthusiasm. My hand slides down to her ample ass to give it a tight squeeze. Arthas brushes her lips over my jawline. Then she peppers my neck with kisses. All the heat rushes through my body and pools in my crotch. My hands roam across her, eventually settling on her bare thighs.

   She places her fingers on my crotch. I didn't think I'd been this desperate, but I'm responding like a wilting meadow to fresh rainfall. I tingle with electricity—far more so than my fingers do when I summon. This is much more powerful. Overwhelmingly so. She presses her fingers against me and starts gently rubbing through my tights and panties. My back arches by its own volition. I smack my lips against hers once more. Slowly, teasingly, she pulls her hand up and slides her fingers down my panties. Every inch is anguish. She touches me anew and I’m already pathetically wet.

   She resumes rubbing me. I grab her nape, hard. I have to grab on somewhere. She smiles against my lips. I can’t help but pull back and hide my head in her shoulder. Every breath has become a struggle. The tingling sensation courses through my being. My hands and knees and feet quiver. I'm like a single rose shooting through the earth, blooming fragrantly, bringing life to everything around it.

   I press my mouth against her shoulder. Anything to quiet myself. I can't control the squeals. Electricity surges. Heat peaks. The tension in my stomach vanishes with my breath. My chest feels impossibly light. I could just implode like a burst of magic. I go limp in her arms, breathing heavily against her. She pulls her hand back out and gives me a big kiss on the cheek. We lie entangled in one another for a few long moments while my limbs regain their strength and feel less like jelly. Suddenly I'm aware of just how hot and sweaty I am. My hair sticks to my forehead while the pyre in my crotch subsides.

   I stare into her eyes, and she into mine. She regards me as if I was a precious, fragile gemstone. A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth while tears itch in my tear ducts. It takes me a few moments to find the words, to put together a sentence, to decide if I want to tell her. The tension might be gone, but my hyperactive mind is a rigorous beast.

   "If I don't get the chance to say it again, I will now,” I whisper. “I love you.” Butterflies flutter in my gut as I speak, but the itch in my eyes only gets worse. Her smile fades and turns into a tiny wrinkle between her brows.

   "Come on. Don't say that. Don't talk like that," she whispers and averts her gaze. My teeth sink into my lower lip.

   "I'm sorry. I had to—I have to say it. I don't know why it had to be like that, but it did. I just—"

   "An outburst of love, perhaps?" she quips.

   "You're awful," I mutter, but her crooked grin is infectious. She strokes my cheek as I cup hers.

   "I love you too, Jaina. And I'll get to say it again. We both will. Promise," she says. Before the tears spring forth on their own, she delivers them with another kiss—the softest one she's given me all night. She brushes them away with her thumb as they roll down my cheeks. We part, and I gently push her shoulder and waist. She lets me—otherwise I probably wouldn't have moved her an inch. Pushing her onto her back, I slide on top of her and straddle her waist. Her breathing shallows.

   "Well, if it _was_ an 'outburst of love', you earned one. Now, let me ease all that tension for _you_ , too," I say, making an effort to mask my mushiness with a sultry croak. I place my hands on her shoulders and she firmly grips my thighs. Her cheeks go from a warm pink to absolutely tomato red.

 

*

 

I step closer like a cat on the prowl. Crouching down, I support myself with a transparent hand on the tree beside me. I'm finally within earshot of them. Angling my head slightly, I listen close and try to tune out the rustling grass and chirping birds that surround us.

   "This land is lost. The shadow has fallen and nothing you do will deter it. If you truly wish to save your people, lead them across the sea, to the west," the old man says, gesturing as if he was in a dramatic play. It's almost as if his every word is imbued with intrinsic magic, spilling out into the atmosphere surrounding him. The sensation sends shivers down my spine. I swallow hard to keep the needles in my stomach at bay. Arthas narrows her eyes at him with a wrinkle on her aquiline nose.

   "Flee?" she says, then raises her voice and jabs a finger at him. "My place is right here, and my only option is to defend my people!" He clenches his teeth and seems to slump ever so slightly.

   "Then you've already made up your mind," he states, shaking his head. This tiny gesture is enough to make her press her lips together and raise her shoulders. The needles sting momentarily. My legs are ready to thrust me towards her and do something, should she choose to floor him. He holds a finger up in front of him.

   "Just remember—the harder you strive to slay your enemies, the faster you'll deliver your people right into their hands," he warns. Her hands ball up into fists. I jump to my feet. She takes a step towards him, but he flourishes his brown cape. It billows behind him and with that motion, fabric turns into feathers. She pauses and steps right back again. He crouches down and within the blink of an eye, he's enveloped by feathers and his form is no longer human. His raven self takes off with a few flaps of its obsidian wings and floats away above her head. If looks could kill, the one she sends it would've stopped its heart on the spot. I step out of my hiding spot and trudge towards her. Breathing deeply, my invisibility fades like dew dripping off a cold glass of water. Arthas catches sight of me, sinks her teeth into her lower lip, and stares at the grassy mounds beneath her feet. I pick at my nails as I approach her.

   "Sorry about concealing myself, Arthas," I mutter. "I just wanted to—" Now it's her who holds a finger up in front of me. Her gaze snaps back up to glare at me. It's a darker look than those she usually levels at me, but it's nothing like the one she shot that old raven.

   "Don't say it," she growls. I breathe a shaky sigh, the sound of which makes her gaze just a tad gentler.

   "I sensed tremendous power about him, Arthas. Maybe—maybe he's right? Maybe he does know what will happen," I say, speaking to myself just as much as to her. She shakes her head with a groan before she marches along the road anew, maul swung over her shoulder. I quickly trot along to keep up.

   " _Nothing_ he says will make me abandon my homeland, Jaina," she says. Her tone has the slightest hint of mushiness to it. "I don't care if he has seen the future." I press my lips together and stare at the road ahead without truly looking at any of the trees or the pale blue sky or the many crows hovering above us. His words repeat themselves in my head, again and again. The harder we fight them, the faster our people will suffer.

   "Just... consider things for a moment, Arthas," I say. She exhales harshly and I can hear her adjust her grip on her maul. "This plague is turning our people into their troops. Maybe the best thing we can do is just evacuate, instead of throwing more people at them. If every loss turns into their gain, we might make things much worse if we try to strike at them," I muse, thinking aloud more than anything. Processing these thoughts chills me to my very core. She throws another glance in my direction.

   "Of course we'll lose a few soldiers. It's inevitable, unfortunately. Completely inevitable. But if we mount a hard and precise strike, those sacrifices won't be in vain. If we can prevent them from turning our civilians and instead tear down the heart of their operations, they won't last long," she says. Usually her last sentence would be accompanied by a crooked, confident smile and a thumb hooked in her heavy belt. But no such thing today. Now she merely gazes ahead, expressionless. Even her tone sounds monotonous.

   "I don't know if it'll be that simple. We've never faced anything like this before. Something that targets regular people like this, a force so overwhelming, so... insidious," I say. I deliberately pause, waiting for her response. It never comes. I glance at her—she's chewing on her lip and constantly readjusting her grip.

   "I know you want to help, Arthas. I do too. But I just don't know if this is the best way to do that. Logical doesn't always equal glorious," I say, keeping my tone gentle and soft like a caress of her cheek. She scoffs through a smile, and I can't help but furrow my brows slightly.

   "If we can't beat them back, who else can? If we're able, don't we have a duty to put our lives on the line for our people? Driving them from their homes and their lives isn't how we do that. Trust me, we can do this. We only need to be fast and strategic in our approach. We'll do fine. We'll do just fine," she says, nearly whispering the last sentence. She looks at me, maintaining a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. For once, I just don't have the heart to smile back.

   "Oh, I hope you're right," I say. She blinks, smile faltering slightly, and looks ahead.

   "I know I am."

 

*

 

The stench is overwhelming. Covering my mouth and nose with my hand does nothing to put a damper on the thick and heavy air. A wave of that rotten smell billowed out of the crates when the soldiers opened them, but it was bad even before that. So bad, it should've been obvious. It was to us—Arthas’ jaw tensed the second the stench hit us. It's yet to come unclenched and probably won't for a good while yet. The flies are everywhere. They're circling the grain silos obsessively and are now migrating towards the exposed grain in the crates. How in the world did the townspeople not notice? Or have they been starving so badly that they had no choice but to eat something so rancid?

   My stomach feels as though it's trying to digest itself—and not just because of the building nausea. I glance at Arthas again. Her hands are balled into fists, her stance is completely rigid, and her gaze is as icy as a glacier. Any minute now she's going to either explode or shut down.

   I motion to grab her hand, almost instinctively. A loving touch could help ward off any huge outburst. But she jerks away from me, as if she saw me coming, and starts pacing back and forth without rhythm or pattern. She only stops dead in her tracks when Uther finally approaches down the road. The dozen seconds it takes him and his knights to reach us are pure agony. She's clenching her hand so hard, her nails must be digging into her leather glove. No matter how much I want to, I can't stop fiddling with the button on my cape.

   "Glad you could make it, Uther," she says, tone dripping with such venom, I can't help but grimace. Uther presses his lips together. The dark circles under his eyes age him far more than his grey hairs and wrinkles.

   "Watch your tone. You may be a princess, but I'm still your superior as a paladin," he says, pointing a finger at her. But there's little spite in his voice. It's as if he's saying it out of obligation more than anything. On the contrary, Arthas holds nothing back.

   "As if I could forget," she snarls and rubs her temples. "Listen, Uther, there's something you should know—" She trails off with wide eyes, leaving Uther to furrow his brows. He opens his mouth to speak when we all follow her gaze to the city. My heart skips a beat and I clench my fingers around the clasp. Even from this distance, we can tell. The Stratholme citizens have a green hue to their undertone. They move sluggishly, as if they're lost on the streets they grew up on, aimlessly roaming their own backyards.

   "It's already begun," she whispers. Uther shakes his head, blinking wildly.

   "Arthas, what're you—" I take a step towards him.

   "It's the plague, these people are infected," I explain, tongue almost stumbling over its own words. "We saw the same thing happen in Hearthglen. They eat this infected produce and—and the disease doesn't kill them. It turns them undead, it transforms them into what we've been fighting." Uther pales, eyes widening. I sink my teeth into my lower lip—I've never seen him make an expression like that before.

   "What?" he exclaims with too much air. Arthas turns back towards us. Her movements are stiff and mechanical.

   "This entire city must be purged," she states. My jaw drops.

   "What?!" Uther repeats. "Arthas, you can't be serious!" She shakes her head.

   "We can't risk this spreading. We can't risk it getting any further. This is where it ends," she says. Shivers slither down my spine. My stomach is ice cold. Uther raises his voice, finally shaken from his disbelief.

   "Arthas, be reasonable! How can you even consider this? There has to be some other way. Perhaps a quarantine—" Arthas bares her teeth slightly. Her gaze has hardened further, and there's an intensity to it that makes me bite down on my lip so hard, it hurts.

   "That's not enough, Uther! If stopping the plague means killing every single person in this city, then so be it!" she interrupts. Soldiers and knights alike shuffle their feet and glace at one another. Nausea writhes in my throat.

   "Whatever happened to protecting the people, Arthas? Have you abandoned that principle in favour of butchering them?"

   " _This_ is how we protect them! This is how we protect everyone else in the kingdom!" she shouts.

   "There has to be another way!" Uther insists, nearly shouting as well. I can feel my knees shaking. Arthas lets out an irritated groan. Her hand grasps at nothing, as if she's itching to crush someone's windpipe.

   "Dammit, Uther!" she growls. She takes a deep breath and regards him with an icy glare.

   "As your future Queen, I order you to purge this city," she commands. Uther scoffs.

   "You are not my Queen yet, girl. Nor would I obey that command if you were," he says, just as calm and collected. Her nostrils flare and she lowers her chin. If we weren't surrounded by troops, she'd probably lunge for his throat right about now.

   "Then I'm afraid I must consider this an act of treason," she says, donning her formal, regal tone. My breath stalls. Uther and I are both left gawping at her. I clutch at my cape so hard, I might tear off a button.

   "Treason?! What’s gotten into you?!" Uther sputters, before she continues.

   "Lord Uther, by my right of succession and the sovereignty of my crown, I hereby relieve you of your command and suspend your paladins from service," she states, cold as a glacier. Something between a gasp and a sob shoots up my throat.

   "Arthas, please! You can't just—" I say, but she swiftly cuts me off.

   "It's done!" she snaps, then regards the soldiers surrounding us. "Those of you who actually want to save this land will follow me. The rest of you? Get out of my sight." For a few seconds, nobody moves a muscle. Uther's knights are the first to retreat. One by one, they return down the road they came from, murmuring amongst themselves. Uther glares at her. His gaze is fiery, but there's a solemnity to his wizened features. He jabs a finger at her.

   "You've just crossed a terrible threshold, Arthas." She barely acknowledges his words, deigning only to scowl back at him. He turns to leave with his knights and trudges down the gravel road with a heavy sigh. I take a wobbly step backwards. Then another. I look down at the withering grass. My teeth are stuck in my aching lip and my hands are clenched around my staff and my cape. I've made no conscious decision to follow him. Instinct makes it for me.

   "Jaina?" My gaze snaps back up. All the icy spite has left her tone. It's now as soft as velvet, as gentle as her caress. Her features have softened and she's regarding me with the big, wet eyes of a sad puppy. Her hand is reached out towards me ever so slightly. I shake my head at her, tears blurring my vision. For a few seconds that’s all I can do.

   "I'm sorry, Arthas... I can't stand by and watch you do this," I whisper. Her breath stalls, expression turning ghostly. Her hand drops to her side. I blink harshly and force myself to turn around, away from her. Then I jog after Uther, breathing ragged and unstable. It takes me a dozen seconds to catch up to him. Despite my better judgment, I look back. She stares at the ground, side to me, jaw set. She finally adjusts her grip on her maul, turns towards her soldiers, and barks orders at them. I tear my gaze away from her.

 

*

 

I throw open the tent flap and stride inside to peruse my heaps of books, notebooks, and assorted notes. My stomach is tying itself into one big knot while I search for the single book I need—one out of 87 exactly. Scrutinizing book titles and old notes is already nursing a tiny headache. But I know I brought that ancient book with me. And if I use the alternative channeling methods, I can no doubt help the Orc's friend. Of course, I already could, but vaporizing fel energies is no simple task. The smoother, cleaner, and safer the process, the better. If I can find these notes, I can very likely bring him back as good as new.

   With a tiny gasp, I spot the book I need. I pull it out from the middle of a massive stack, nearly toppling them all over. My chest immediately feels a touch lighter, and my breathing is less constrained. The headache, however, has already sunk its icy cold claws into my mind. If I’m very lucky, I'll have time to soothe it before we have to perform the rites.

   I allow myself a tiny smile at the sight of my old bookmarks between the pages. One of the numerous advantages of being a diligent student. I flip through the pages, bookmark to bookmark, scouring the main text and my notes in the margins. Finally, I land on the right page, its margins filled to the brim with notes. Breathing a sigh of relief, I pore over my old scribbles.

   Then I freeze. My body goes numb. My breath catches in my throat and that throat feels like it's closing up. ' _My name is Jaina Proudmoore and I study too much_ '. Followed by a drawing of a goofy, smiling face. For a few long seconds I stare at it, the ice in my stomach immobilizing me. Then I brush my thumb over the letters. To feel their indentations in the paper—as if they might jump to life. As if they'd summon her. The old her. It feels like it's been centuries since I last saw that handwriting. I can still visualize how it used to look, back when neither of us were ace spellers. Back when every letter she wrote was capitalized.

   I swallow hard. Fire stirs in my gut. I pinch the page between my fingers. It would take so little effort to tear the note out. To crumble it up and throw it away, never to be seen again. I press my fingers together so hard, it hurts a little. But the tearing motion never begins. My hands won't obey. They're left trembling with unused force. My arms tremble with them. Then my lower lip.

   I slam a hand onto my desk for support. Sob after sob tears through my chest until I can no longer suppress them. My vision blurs. I can't see the letters of the book that lies abandoned in front of me anymore. My other hand flies up to cover my mouth. My sobs will stay here between me and the old words. Tears roll down my cheeks, not unlike a burst dam, and my heartbeat rushes through my ears.

   My chest is empty. There's no tension, no fire, nothing. Just a big, gaping void. A prickling numbness that starts from a big pool in my gut and spreads through my entire body, making nausea slither up my throat, making my knees feel like they're about to give out. I close my eyes. Tears spatter onto the desk below.

   The tent flap is pulled aside.

   "Miss Proudmoore—" I whip my head up. Through the tears I can see Thrall stare at me, wide-eyed. He slowly lets the tent opening slide shut behind him. Wiping my tears on my sleeve, I clear my throat and take a deep, shaky breath.

   "What is it?" I ask. He hesitates and audibly swallows.

   "Uh, I—the, uh—excuse me," he stammers. I tuck a stray tuft of hair behind my ear and try to lean casually against the tear-stained desk.

   "It's fine, Thrall. I'm fine. What is it?" He flashes a tiny smile and shuffles his feet.

   "Your sorcerers have called for you at the ritual circle. They said they needed your advice on something," he says. I roll my eyes with a groan.

   "Of course they do," I mutter. He holds his palm up towards me.

   "But... take your time. I didn't get the feeling that it was 'life or death' urgent," he says, his tone and voice remarkably gentle. I nod at him, pulling the corners of my mouth up into a weak smile.

   "Alright," I say. He nods back at me and ducks out of the tent. My smile fades immediately. I sigh, breath still quivering, and glance down at the book. I grab a piece of paper, dip my quill, and furiously copy the notes I need, keeping my eyes well away from hers. Then I slam the book shut, lean against the desk, and cover my face with my hands.


	2. Chapter 2

I neatly step around a large puddle and continue along my path. Every tree and every fern and every twist and turn seem fresh on a new trail. The waters of the lake in the other direction no longer permeate the air with the telltale scent of marine humidity. In fact, I'm not quite sure what it smells of, here. I can't put my finger on it, despite its familiarity. As I trudge along, shifting my gaze from my surroundings to my feet to avoid stepping in anything, I catch a glimpse of something between the many trees. It's a ways off, but what looks like a fence peeks through the close-set trees at the forest edge. At least it must be an edge of some sort.

   I hesitate, pausing between steps. The small path runs alongside this fence—perhaps it will eventually lead me to it? But there's no guarantee that the two are at all related. To truly discover what I've found, I must step away from my new path. I take a deep breath through my nose and clutch my notebook in my hands. With careful steps, I stride across the forest floor towards the edge.

   Sidling out between the last few trees, I let myself breathe again. The sun blazing down on the plains laid out in front of me almost urges me to breathe in deeper. I pull up the hood on my cloak with a frown, shielding my eyes from the sun. This is why I prefer to walk in the woods, shaded by the treetops.

   The fence contains a sun-bathed field that stretches out in front of me like a sea of billowing green waves. My heart soars and I rise to my toes when I spot what roams at the far end of the pasture—a group of horses. Fiddling with the clasp on my notebook, I hurry along the side of the fence, gaze shifting between the horses and my feet. I can't believe I never went this way before.

   Every second of travel feels like an hour. I finally make it around the fence and approach the horses. It's a small group that consists of two younger mares and an older, obviously pregnant mare. The pasture is flanked by stables and neatly tended farm-houses. The pregnant mare immediately approaches me. Her coat is a grey colour and judging by her fur she's been groomed recently. She pokes her head over the fence and stares at me. I reach up and hold my hand out flat in front of her nose. She sniffs it, touching my palm with her muzzle. It's soft like the finest velvet. She immediately smacks her lips, almost nibbling at my hand with them before she realizes that there's nothing in it.

   "Sorry. I don't have anything for you," I mutter. I settle my hand on the side of her cheek and pet and scratch her. She doesn't seem to mind at all. It's tempting to reach down and pick some dandelion leaves for her, but the thought makes my gut sting. This is a stranger's horse. Petting and greeting it is one thing, but I shouldn't feed her, no matter how much I want to please her.

   "She's cute, right?" says a voice behind me. I jump in place and retract my hand, horse twitching with me. I spin around, both hands clutching my notebook hard. A few feet behind me stands a girl. She's taller than me, and the sunlight brings out a hint of red in her blonde hair. My gaze is drawn to what she's carrying—two large handfuls of chopped carrots. She shoots me something between a smile and a grimace.

   "Oh, sorry. I didn't scare you on purpose, I swear," she says. I exhale harshly and tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

   "It's okay. I just didn't hear you, I guess. Sorry," I say. I want to look her in the eye, but my gut stings every time I try. Instead, my gaze settles on her aquiline nose. She tilts her head at me.

   "You should take off your hood. It makes you look like some sort of thief," she says. My eyes widen and I have to wet my lips several times before answering.

   "Right. Sorry," I mumble. She furrows her brow.

   "Though, I guess if someone caught you, they'd tear down the hood and see that you're just a girl. Not that girls can't steal things, but why would _you_ be stealing a horse, you know?" she muses. A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth and I nod. She narrows her eyes at me.

   "And you aren't stealing anything else either, are you?" she asks. I quickly shake my head and put my hands up in front of me, as much as I can while still holding my book.

   "No, no! Of course not. I was just greeting this horse. Sorry," I say. She flashes her pearly whites at me with a crooked grin.

   "Alright," she says and strolls closer. I clear my throat and speak without thinking twice.

   "I only have my hood up because I don't like the sun shining in my eyes," I say, then quickly bite my lower lip.

   "Oh," she says, and screws up her eyes at the sun. "Can't blame you." At this, I finally dare a proper smile.

   "I'm not stealing horses. Honest," I say.

   "Good," she says, then steps closer to me. The urge to back up is overwhelming. I suppress it by raising my shoulders and clutching my book to my chest.

   "I prefer stealing sweets anyway," she whispers and grins at me again. She steps back and I exhale in an attempt to laugh.

   "Can't blame _you_ there," I say, voice much more shrill than I'd planned.

   "What's your name?" she asks. I swallow hard before I answer.

   "Jaina," I say. She nods, smile much more genuine and less crooked.

   "What's yours?" I ask. Smile faltering a bit, she furrows her brow at me and narrows her eyes momentarily. My heart skips a beat. What cue did I miss this time?

   "I'm Arthas," she says, after a moment's hesitation. The name rings a bell in my head, but I can't identify its tune. Not at the moment, at least. I reach out my hand to shake hers. She eyes it and our gazes both settle on the pile of carrot pieces in her hands.

   "Oh, uh," she mutters. I let my hand fall again and let myself giggle properly.

   "Maybe later," I say. She nods and approaches the pregnant mare who is also staring firmly at the carrots.

   "Oh, and you've just been standing there, waiting so patiently!" she coos. She holds the carrot pile up against her chest and places a piece on her hand. She hands it to the horse who gobbles it up and crunches it.

   "Do you want to feed her too?" she asks. My heart leaps and I nod wildly, bouncing on the balls of my feet. She hands me two pieces, and I immediately pass them on to the mare.

   "But you have to give it to her with—" she says, but stops short when I feed her with as flat a palm as humanly possible.

   "Oh, you already knew that," she mutters. I suck on my lips to suppress my huge smile as the mare nibbles at the treats. We share the carrot pieces between us and eventually the other mares join us, no doubt having heard the telltale munching noises. None of them are pushy or possessive of their snacks. Whoever raised these horses did so carefully.

   "What're you doing here anyway?" she asks. "Do you come here to pet the horses?" I shake my head, gaze firmly trained on carrots and muzzles.

   "No, I was following an unfamiliar path through the woods and found this place. Then I just couldn't resist greeting the horses, and this one seemed just as excited to meet me," I explain and point at the pregnant mare. Arthas smiles brightly.

   "Yeah, she's a sweetheart like that. Everyone likes her," she says. "Do you live nearby then?"

   "Well, we have a vacation home a few miles away. I cut through the forest to get here," I say. She furrows her brow.

   "Miles? What are you doing here, then? My father usually never lets me stray that far all alone like that," she says. I hesitate before answering, handing out some of my last carrots.

   "I just walked. I like walking, and I always return home on time anyway. I just like to—" I cut myself off by involuntary swallowing hard. I follow my body's cue and silence myself. She brushes carrot bits and saliva off of her hands and tilts her head at me.

   "You like to what? Explore? Pet horses?" she asks. I press my lips together. Carefully wiping my hands on my already slightly muddy pants, I take my notebook out from under my arm and crack it open. She leans towards me to look at its contents and just like that, the sight of my drawings and notes makes my stomach feel like it's turned upside down. On the contrary, her eyes widen with a gasp.

   "Wow, those look so good! They’re so realistic," she whispers. I try and fail to control the smile that spreads across my face.

   "Thanks. I just—I like to catalogue the things I see. I've managed to find a rare plant or two in the forests here like that, just by drawing and describing them, and sometimes they have useful alchemical properties, so it can be really nice to know where they grow, in case someone needs them," I ramble. She gawps at me—but it's not the kind of gawping I'm used to. Usually it's paired with furrowed or cocked brows and a strange sneer. But her expression seems to hold no such negative judgment, as far as I can tell.

   "That's so cool. So you might have saved lives just by drawing things?" she says. My smile turns sheepish.

   "Ah, well, not yet. But maybe some day. It could happen," I stutter.

   "It could. So when someone really needs that special plant, you can whip out your drawing and say 'fret not! I know just where to find what you need'," she says, giving her imitation of me a strange accent and a deeper voice than I actually have. I can't help but giggle. At the same time, the mare gently bumps Arthas' head with her snout, snorting and blinking at her. She pets her and kisses said snout.

   "I don't have any more carrots, sorry. I'll come back tomorrow, if I can. You'll have to wait until then," she mumbles. The urge to reach out and pet along nearly overwhelms me.

   "Is she yours?" I ask. She shakes her head.

   "No. But the foal in her belly is," she says with a wry smile. Now it's my turn to gasp and widen my eyes.

   "Really?" I exclaim, and lean over the fence to gaze at her big, pregnant stomach. "Oh gosh, you're so lucky!" She throws herself at the fence right next to me, leaning over just like me.

   "I know, right!"

   "How far along is she?" I ask, finally daring to look her in the eye. She hums with a finger on her lower lip.

   "Uh, a bit more than nine months. Nine months and three quarters. I've been counting the days. So she has to give birth soon, right? She's already gone over the nine months," she says. I giggle at her and shake my head.

   "No, humans are pregnant for nine months. Horses are pregnant for about eleven," I say. Her jaw drops with a dramatic groan.

   "What?! So I have to wait two more months now?" she whines. I shrug.

   "Well, you always did. But most of her pregnancy is already over with now. And some horses give birth a little earlier than that, too," I say. She pouts and nods.

   "That's something, I guess. It's just taken forever already." I'm about to speak again when she continues her musings.

   "I'm thinking I'll name it depending on what it looks like. These horses are usually grey, so I'm mostly basing it on that, though it'd be really sweet to have a black horse or something! What do you think of the name Starlight? For a grey horse?" she asks. I quickly nod.

   "That's cute." She smiles, but I'm not done yet. "Did you know that horse births tend to happen very quickly? And actually should happen quickly. The pushing part of things shouldn't take very long, but a foal has those long, gangly limbs that can get bent and tangled and positioned all wrong. And then the mare is so strong that she can push the foal's hooves through her own uterus," I explain. Arthas pales and stares at the mare’s belly.

   "Oh..." she mumbles.

   "Oh, and it's good that you feed her carrots and such as a snack, instead of just picking something off the ground, because horses can't vomit." Her jaw drops and her gaze snaps back up to meet mine.

   "What, really?"

   "Yep. So if you feed them something bad, or just something that they're intolerant to, it can kill them because they can't get rid of it," I say.

   "That's so weird," she whispers, shaking her head slightly.

   "I know, right! Oh, and did you know that it can actually be really hard for a horse to recover from breaking a leg?" Her eyes widen further and she presses her brows together. "They can actually heal the broken bone just fine, but if they go without distributing their weight on that hoof for too long, it'll literally break the hoof. So horses are usually put down if they break a leg," I explain. I have to take a deep breath and wet my dry mouth after talking so much, upon which my stomach stings anew. She's gawping at the pregnant mare, blinking slowly. The pinkish red hue still hasn't returned to her undertone.

   "Sorry. That's probably more than you ever wanted to know about horses," I mutter.

   "Are—are horses okay? Is mine going to be okay? How are they still alive?" she whines. I giggle involuntarily, but my doing so makes a smile pull at the corners of her lips.

   "They're fine. I mean, they're still here, aren't they? And they're still a really important working animal for us. It works out in spite of all that," I muse. She shakes her head, letting her smile fully take hold.

   "Incredible," she mutters. Behind us, the telltale sound of boots trudging through light mud catch my attention. I twist my head to see who's coming. I almost fall off of the fence when I catch sight of them.

   "Arthas, you're lingering," he grumbles as he approaches. His gaze settles on me, while Arthas hops down from the fence and jogs towards him.

   "Sorry, father. I got caught up with my new friend, here," she says. Her new 'friend'. The word makes my heart skip a beat. I hurry down from the fence as well and all but throw myself on one knee, as I've seen my father do it time and time again. While I try to settle on a form of address, the very casually dressed King speaks again.

   "And who is she, exactly? Have you played together before sometime?" he asks, eyes narrowing. Once again I'm too slow to respond.

   "Her name is Jaina," Arthas answers for me. The King's expression immediately softens.

   "Ah, Jaina! Of course. Young miss Proudmoore. I could've sworn I saw you hiding in the yard at your father's recently," he says and steps closer. My teeth sink into my lower lip, while Arthas looks like her father just spoke in a foreign language.

   "Stand up, young lady, go ahead," he says. I spring to my feet as though his word were lined with magic.

   "My, you've grown up so quickly," he mumbles. Arthas steps towards me as well.

   "You're _that_ Jaina?" she exclaims. My gaze darts between the two royals, mouth opening and closing, no words presenting themselves for me to speak. The King chuckles slightly, seemingly trying not to.

   "It's alright, young lady. I’m delighted that you've finally gotten a chance to meet my daughter. And vice versa, of course," he says, putting his hand on Arthas' shoulder. She beams at the touch. That was the chime of the bell. Arthas Menethil. Crown-Princess Arthas Menethil.

   "Shall we transport you home, young lady, or will you make it home by yourself?" he asks. I swallow hard, clear my throat, and shake my head.

   "I'll go home. It's fine. It's okay," I finally stammer. "Thank you, your majesty." He smiles at me and nods once. Then he turns on his heel and gestures for Arthas to follow.

   "Come, we're already late." Before she follows him, she reaches out her hand towards me. My gaze shifts back and forth between her hand and her face.

   "We missed it earlier, right?" she says. As the realization hit me, so does a big smile. My cheeks heat up, though I couldn't say why. I grab her hand and we shake. As soon as she lets go, I also make a short curtsy. She laughs, covering her mouth with her fingers.

   "It's nice to finally meet you, Jaina. Come visit again soon, okay?" she says with a crooked smile. I nod wildly.

   "Okay," I whisper. She turns to follow her father. For a few long seconds, I gaze after her as she follows her father closely. Then I turn around and bolt back the way I came, notebook clutched tightly against my chest.

 

*

 

The sweet juices run down my chin as soon as I bite into the fragrant fruit. I hold my hand under my chin to prevent it from staining my white shirt. I catch the juicy drops just in time. Licking the sweetness off of my fingers and my lips, a small moan escapes my throat. The flesh is soft and fragrant and bursting with flavour—nothing like what you'd find in most markets around the country. Controlling its juices is a mess, but it's worth it. I suppose this is why Comtesses and duchesses and such always carry handkerchiefs around with them. Otherwise I don't know what they use them for. I close my eyes and angle my head up, soaking up the taste and the warmth of the sun to the right of me. Even with closed eyes, it'd be too much to face it directly.

   I don't have to turn and look to recognize who's coming. Her footsteps are heavy—far heavier than those of nearly any other lady in the castle, besides the knights. I could swear she makes them that way on purpose. She settles down next to me without a word. I crack one eye open and gaze upon her. At least this year she got to wear a slightly shorter black dress than last time. She wrestles off her slippers, pulls off her knee-socks, and sticks her feet in the water. She lies down and similarly pulls off her black lace gloves. With a deep sigh, she meets my gaze and smiles wryly.

   "Can I have a peach?" she asks. I nod and dig into the little sack I filled with them.

   "Of course," I say with too much air. I hand her one and she winks at me with both eyes, still wearing that smirk. It routinely makes every adult in the vicinity groan with expectant exasperation. But it spreads a warmth in my stomach that I can't identify. Nobody else makes my stomach tingle and my cheeks heat up like this. Not even my few other friends or my teachers who are willing to listen. I suppose that's why Arthas is my best friend, above all others. She bites into the peach, immediately licking her lips. I tuck my hair behind my ear and clear my throat.

   "How are you feeling?" I ask. She shrugs, but her smile falters ever so slightly.

   "Fine," she says, mouth still full of fruit. I press my lips together and leave the peach stone in the grass next to me.

   "How was the ceremony?" I ask, actively trying to keep my tone gentle. She furrows her brows and chews for a few seconds before she answers.

   "Also fine. Father said she'd have liked it. Which I guess is the most important part, really," she says. My heart skips a beat. That's the most information she's ever given me on the subject. I smile and tilt my head at her.

   "I think she'd enjoy it as it long as the two of you did. Don't you think?" I ask. She shrugs again and smacks her lips.

   "The two kind of go hand in hand," she says, wiggling her toes in the tepid waters. I giggle quietly.

   "Oh, I see."

   "At least for my father," she continues. "It matters a lot to him that it's reminiscent of her." I nod a little.

   "What would she have liked about it?" I ask. At that, she furrows her brows and pauses mid-bite. Said bite turns very long as she blinks multitudinously and mulls it over.

   "I don't know," she finally concludes. "He didn't say."

   "Maybe you should ask." She shrugs.

   "Maybe. Some other day. I don't want to make him cry any more than necessary. Calia can deal with the rest today," she says and swallows. My stomach cools and my smile disappears with the thought. We stay silent in each other's company while I grab another peach and repeat my awkward eating process.

   "It's just weird," she continues with a somber tone. "Mourning someone I didn't even know, while everyone else acts like it's the end of the world every year." My stomach stings at the thought. Whenever I'm away from my mother for the sake of my studies, I fidget and cry more than usual. It's always a relief to return home.

   "Do you remember her at all?" I ask. She presses her lips together and pauses her eating for a moment, resting her peach hand in the grass. Then she shakes her head slightly.

   "I just have flashes, mostly. Her hair was _incredibly_ long." She gestures enthusiastically while she speaks. "It went down way, way beyond her waist. And she was tall, I think. You know, broad-shouldered. Like me. I think she was taller than my father, but it isn’t really obvious in the family portraits for some reason. But he says that I'll grow to be just as tall as her," she muses.

   "Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" I say with an eyebrow cocked. She finally smirks at me again.

   "I certainly wouldn't mind," she responds, mimicking my tone, and takes another bite of her peach.

   "Do you remember her hair colour too, then?" I ask, resting my head on my chin. My gaze is utterly glued to her. She hums in consideration.

   "Not really, but I can just cheat and look at the paintings in that case." She shrugs. "I just remember that it was darker than mine. But I can't place if it was brown or reddish or even darker than that," she says, words once again accompanied by peach. "I got my blonde hair from my father, obviously."

   "He's greying, though. That's cheating," I say, prompting her to snort and giggle. It's no elegant sound, but it still makes warmth and butterflies sprout in my stomach.

   "If you consider that blonde then yeah, everyone gets a bit blonder with age," she says, voice bouncing with laughter.

   "Some day, you'll be even blonder, too," I mumble. Envisioning her with grey or white hair is easy, but trying to place the imaginary wrinkles on her lovely face is a far more difficult task. My mind's eye ends up pasting her father's face on top of hers. I have to grimace sheepishly to rid myself of the image.

   "Oh, hopefully not for a long time yet," she says and sits back up. The peach in her hand immediately takes the opportunity to drip a few drops of juice onto her black dress.

   "Oh, careful," I mutter and point at the spots. She gasps and tries to brush them off with her fingers, but she mostly ends up smearing the juice further into the fabric.

   "Dammit," she groans. "Father won't be happy about that."

   "Sit still," I command, and she freezes. I breathe out through rounded lips and draw circles with my index finger around the first drop, on her chest. Pressing my index and my thumb together, I motion my hand away from her as though I was pulling on a fine thread. The air molds itself around my fingers and turns crisp with a crackle. As I pull, the moisture turns white and glossy, sprouting flakes of frost. Finally, I simply brush off the frozen flakes, leaving her dress spotless. Her jaw drops and she stares at me with wide eyes. Simply touching her dress sends a strange sort of electricity through my stomach, as though the little butterflies are fluttering around inside of me. Cheeks aflame, I repeat the process with the two drops by her thigh. Brushing it off, she stares at me with a widening grin.

   "Jaina. That's so wild," she whispers. No words present themselves for me to answer her with, so I simply nod and pick at my nails.

   "Do you need a job, by any chance? You could be my own personal fixer. Who fixes things. Like this," she says, examining her good-as-new dress. I can't tell if she's joking or not. I'll have to wing it. I cross my legs and don a formal tone of address.

   "Why, I already have a job, your highness. It is to study. And to be your friend," I say. My heart skips a beat when she gently slaps my arm with the back of her hand.

   "Can't complain about that. I don't mind having a genius for my best friend," she says and wiggles her eyebrows. Taking another bite of the traitorous fruit, she mirrors my method, immediately licking the juices off of her hand.

   "Could you also do that when I saw you last? What else can you do now?" she asks. I suck on my lips to suppress my otherwise massive smile. I fiddle with the hem of my skirt and gaze down at my thighs. Most of my spells are still small and relatively insignificant displays, even if the workings behind them are fascinating. The stinging in my stomach clashes with the juvenile butterflies. Where would I even start, if she's interested in listening to yet another one of my lectures at all?

   "You seem to be good at ice?" she urges. Finally, I let myself smile and nod.

   "Well, water in general, yes, but I prefer working with ice. There's something about cooling the moisture in the air around us or the ground below or—" I glance out at the lake in front of us. "You know, something a bit more obvious... There's something about taking that and changing its structure, molding it, bending it into something different, something immediately useful and helpful that's just... satisfying in a way that's difficult to truly explain," I say, words spilling out far too fast. She cocks a brow at me.

   "Difficult to explain?" she says and places a hand on my forehead. "Jaina, are you well?" I snort and close my eyes, laughing inelegantly.

   "Well, sorry to disappoint, it's just—it just _feels_ right and that's honestly hard to put into words," I say with too much air. She hums in acknowledgement and nods once.

   "Oh, yeah, okay. I can understand that." I'm about to continue when she does the very same. "Do you want to demonstrate? I'd love to watch." My breath catches in my throat, lodged alongside unsaid words. She stares at me with wide eyes and that gleaming grin. It's like her own sort of magic—the persuasive kind. My gaze drifts back towards the lake. This isn't my most useful magic, but it is one of my flashier spells. Reaching my hands out towards the water, chills run down my spine. The temperature around us dips—she notices too, gasping slightly. I direct all this energy towards the water. Within mere seconds, it stills, hardens, and pales. Ice spreads from a few feet out on the open water and all the way to the bank. I look at her with an awfully big smile, but she's paled as well. With a yelp she reaches for her feet—that are now stuck in the frozen lake. I smack my hand up in front of my mouth.

   "Oh! Oh, sorry, I completely forgot," I exclaim.

   "I'm freezing!" she whines.

   "Sorry, sorry, sorry," I chant while I reach down and touch the ice. With furrowed brows, I convince it to thaw around my fingers, but the process is slow.

   "Turning something flexible from inflexible is still a lot harder for me, sorry," I whisper. As soon as she's able, she pulls her feet up, quick as a frightened cat. There are still bits of ice stuck to her toes. After a moment’s hesitation, I grab her toes and continue to melt ice and warm her freezing skin. She helpfully does the very same thing by brushing her hands up and down her legs—the mostly-eaten peach lies abandoned in the grass next to her shoes.

   "I didn't even think to move my feet," she says, voice shaking from cold _and_ from laughter. In fact, she's barely breathing at all from laughing. I can't help but laugh along.

   "I didn't even notice they were in there," I say.

   "We make a terrible magic duo," she giggles. When I finish thawing her toes, she puts her socks back on with a small sigh.

   "At least you know who to ask now, if you ever want to go ice skating in the summer," I mutter. She glances at me with a crooked smirk.

   "Sure do." The electricity tingling in my stomach makes me wriggle my toes. Pressing my lips together, I gaze down at the partly thawed ice patch. I clear my throat.

   "I can show you one more thing. I'm not very good at it yet, and it takes a lot of energy, but I'll try," I say. She stares at me wide-eyed and continues to warm her feet while I once again reach out towards the lake. The air around us turns crisp. As I concentrate, my muscles strain. I'll no doubt feel as though I've been running marathons and doing push-ups all day later. My mana pool is so close to being drained, I'm not sure I can actually pull this off. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. Her gaze is fixed on the lake. I press my lips together and close my eyes. I envision the shape of my creation. A head and two arms, only reaching my knee in height. The water crackles and billows with the force, sounding more and more like a waterfall every second. Arthas gasps and I open my eyes.

   "What is that?" she whispers. I let out a shaky sigh. The tiny elemental is about the size of my foot and it has no arms and only a vaguely defined head. I've made a pillar of water. But I still feel my energy coursing through it. It's small, but it counts.

   "It's, uh... it's a little smaller than it's supposed to be, but it's a water elemental," I explain. She tilts her head at it.

   "What does it d—" she asks, but interrupts herself with another gasp. The elemental has tilted its head right back at her. I can't help but snort.

   "So far it only does that. But the more I practice, the more useful it can be. It can help in a combat situation, for example, or help me reach things if it's bigger. Stuff like that," I say. Her jaw would reach the ground if it could. She hasn't taken her eyes off the little creature yet. While I take in her expression, I feel the strain in my muscles again. This time, my concentration can't handle the pressure. The elemental bursts apart, rejoining the waters below it. Panting from exertion, I go limp. I wet my dry mouth and try to sit up straight, but my muscles are already aching. I glance at her with a sheepish smile, but she's staring at me as though I was a mighty dragon.

   "You're amazing," she whispers. The smile fades from my lips. Her words tumble around in my head as though my skull was empty. My chest feels light, but nevertheless a pressure builds behind my eyes.

   "What?" I mutter. She nods wildly, picking up the smile I dropped.

   "These things you can do are so wild! Imagine what you can do in just a few months or a year from now! You're so cool, I can't believe you can just... change the world around you like this," she rambles. A sob immediately shoots through my throat. I cover my mouth with my hand and turn away from her. This is the fatigue talking, I know it, and yet I can’t muster the energy to stop it. It’s an embarrassing ouroboros of emotion.

   "Jaina?" Arthas stutters. "Did I say something wrong? I didn't mean to, I swear. What did I do?" I shake my head. She's right beside me, as close as she can be without me objecting, but I can't bring myself to look at her.

   "You think I'm amazing?" I whisper. Her hands hover over mine, hesitating.

   "Yes, of course I do. I mean it, you really are," she says, tone several levels softer than usual. For a split second and nothing more, I dare glance at her. There's no mocking smile or furrowed brows upon her face.

   "Nobody ever thinks I'm cool," I say, though I don't know how intelligible I am. She sighs and finally takes my hand in hers. The gentle touch feels massive. I can feel it all the way up my arm and my skin tingles upon her touch.

   "Who? Your friends? Classmates?" she asks. I nod my head and attempt to wipe away tears that are quickly replaced by new ones.

   "Then they're wrong," she states. "And it's their opinion against mine, so whose do you think is more legitimate, huh? I dare them to argue against the Princess." She pulls a single chuckle out of me.

   "You're so sweet," I say. I struggle to control my breathing and stop the flow of tears, but it's as if my body has taken on a life of its own. I continue weeping and squeeze her hand hard.

   "Would you mind if I hug you?" she asks. My heart leaps at the suggestion and I shake my head. She scoots up beside me and wraps her arms around me. I lean into her. My breaths steady ever so slowly, though my tears are reluctant to quit their marathon. It doesn't matter anymore—my gut has warmed and my aching muscles are easing up. I could stay here in her arms all day. And I want to.

 

*

 

My heart has been stuck in my throat all week. Now it feels as though it's trying to choke me. My knees are shaking as I step out of the carriage. If I fall now, I might never get back up. I clear my throat, straighten my spine, and try to walk with some sort of confidence. One step at a time, up the massive staircase towards the castle. I have a way out. If I need to leave early, I can. My stomach stings at the thought. I don't want to have to leave early.

   The choking sensation only worsens as I reach the top of the stairs, heart pumping hard and fast. There are other guests up here. Huge gowns, capes, and glimmering medals and jewelry. All adorned by people I've never seen before in my life. I stop dead in my tracks. My knees feel hollow. If I leave now, before anyone notices me, no one will have to know. When I take a step back, I catch a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. My breath stalls. The heart in my throat stills and drops back into its place.

   She frees herself from the crowd, emerging from it as though the lords and ladies were wheat in a field. The tense stinging in my stomach melts away and my knees are going soft for entirely different reasons, now. If her guests glitter, she gleams like a single red rose surrounded by daisies. She looks as though she was born to wear that dress. Or perhaps it’s the other way around. It's a massive royal blue ball gown that flatters her muscular physique like it's trying to seduce her. Her long hair is put up in a thick bun with several braids whose patterns I can barely follow. Her tiara is neatly intertwined with her hair, and I recognize her matching earrings as her mother's.

   Her gaze finally meets mine. Electricity shoots through my stomach. For a few seconds that feel like decades, we simply stare at each other from across the crowded entrance hall. Nothing and nobody stands between us. Then she smiles brighter than any jewel, grabs two fistfuls of dress, and strides towards me. Her smile is infectious, though tears sting in my eyes for reasons I can't quite fathom. On the way, she waves someone over. I don't care to look—she's all I want to gaze upon for the rest of the evening.

   Her smile turns crooked when she stops in front of me, towering over me by a whole foot. I curtsy as thoroughly as I can without toppling over.

   "Your highness," I say. Her mouth twitches, struggling not to smile wider. By her side appears King Terenas and my heart skips a beat. He must be the one she called over—and I may have been supposed to greet him first. Instead, I simply repeat my curtsy, going down even further while my ankles debate whether or not to betray me.

   "Your majesty," I say. Terenas smiles at me and takes my hand in his when I stand back up.

   "It's good to see you again, Lady Proudmoore," he says, smiling very much like his daughter.

   "Likewise, your majesty." He squeezes my hand and takes his leave to socialize or whatever it is that kings do. Then Arthas swoops in and takes both my hands in hers. The butterflies in my stomach are already doing somersaults.

   "I almost thought you wouldn't make it here. And then this entire ball would've been pointless," she whispers, on the brink of giggling.

   "I would never miss a chance to see you," I say. Her cheeks' pink hue intensifies through her subtle rouge. I squeeze her hands while I feel the heat spread through my own cheeks. She squeezes back, wrestles one hand from my grasp, and drags me across the hall towards the marble staircase. We attract quite a few glances on the way. She barely even notices them. Usually such stares would make me bow my head and make my stomach sting, but hand-in-hand with Arthas they simply bounce off of me like she was a magical forcefield. We hurry across the polished floors and hand-woven carpets. Arthas slows as we ascend the stairs. With my hand still in hers, she rakes her gaze down my body, then back up.

   "Jaina, I have to say, you look—" she says, but I hold up a finger in front of me.

   "No, Arthas, don't you dare. I'll go first," I interrupt. She cocks a brow at me.

   "Excuse me? I'll compliment you if I please—" I press my finger onto her lips. Hushed gasps resound through the entrance hall below us.

   "Lady Proudmoore, you dare silence the Princess?" she says, over-articulating every word. I glance down into the hall, where we've drawn even more gazes than before. Instead of responding to her, I merely smile. She can't keep up the royal facade. She returns my smile tenfold and giggles behind my finger. I let it drop and pick her other hand back up.

   "Arthas, you look simply... marvelous tonight. Absolutely stunning. Just—ravishing," I say, using every lavish word my brain throws at me. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath.

   "I know," she purrs. Up close, I can tell that the blue fabric shimmers in the light ever so slightly.

   "Whoever this tailor is, you have to keep them around. They really know how to make you look like—like—" She tilts her head at me while I settle on just the right kind of flattery. "Like the single brightest star in the sky," I conclude. Her features soften as I say it, eyes emanating warmth. If we were alone, I reckon she'd have embraced me.

   "Thank you," she says with too much air and clears her throat. "Now, you... That dress makes you look like royalty. Like you belong up here with me, instead of being a mere guest alongside the rest of these fools who look like their grandmothers dressed them," she says with a crooked grin and glances down at the other noble-people. I can't help but giggle while my cheeks heat up further. It’s probably for the best that they can’t actually hear us up here. She brushes her hand across my hair, touching my temple in the process, and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. How some always manage to escape even my most thorough up-dos is beyond me.

   "A tiara really would complete the look, you know. Let me know if you need one," she says, gazing upon my lips and eventually settling on eye-contact. My cheeks might as well be on fire, they're so warm. If she didn't have a grip on me, I might float away—my stomach certainly feels light and tingly enough for it.

   "You're too sweet," I manage to stutter.

   "No such thing. Not with you," she says with a wink. I've barely caught my breath before she pulls me further up the stairs.

   "Now, you simply have to taste the hors d'oeuvres. The cooks have really outdone themselves this time, they're scrumptious. I can't wait to see what the rest of the evening will taste like," she muses. My mouth waters at the thought of anything with peppermint in it.

   "Won't you have to herd the other guests into the ballroom as well?" I ask when she pushes the massive door open as if it was merely a rickety fence gate. She shrugs.

   "My father will take care of that, I'm sure."

 

I pop the savory petit four in my mouth, grab another one for the road, and take the goblet full of freshly squeezed apple juice in my other hand. She's been grimacing at wine all evening—it's time to drink something decent. I duck and weave through the crowded ballroom. It leaves my head feeling groggy and nearly spinning every time I do so. At least the taste of pork crackling in my mouth helps keep me grounded. After a few seconds of spinning around in a circle, I manage to locate her on the stone bench where I left her. When I left five minutes ago, she looked as though she could stab someone. Now, she looks as though she'd tear someone's throat out with her bare teeth if they so much as looked at her wrong. Her arms and legs are crossed, her foot is wiggling with impatience, and her jaw is set like steel. Her gaze could set someone on fire.

   "Here," I say as I approach and hand her the goblet. She snatches it out of my hand and glares at its contents with a wrinkle on her nose.

   "What is this?" she grumbles.

   "It's apple juice," I say, sit down on the bench next to her, and pop the other snack in my mouth. She sighs deeply.

   "Oh, bless. Thank you," she says and puts her lips to it. She chugs the whole thing within seconds and slams the gold cup down next to her.

   "I swear, if that pig looks at _either_ of us like that one more time, I'll have him beheaded," she snarls. I try to follow her gaze into the crowds, but there are many potential pigs among them. None are staring at us at the moment—and I can't say I've noticed anyone doing that all evening. The thought of someone staring without me knowing it sends a chill down my spine. I look back at Arthas and smile weakly.

   "Don't behead someone at your own ball," I urge. She narrows her eyes at me.

   "It's my ball and I'll behead someone if I want to," she says. Despite mulling it over for a few seconds, I can't tell if she's joking or not. I back up on my aching feet and reach my hand out towards her.

   "Come on, let's go outside. I think you need some fresh air," I say. She stares at me for a moment while her gaze softens. Then she takes my hand and we duck and weave our way out to the gardens. The smell of fresh rainfall hangs in the air, and the sounds of chatter and lute music seem like they're miles away out here. Taking a deep breath, she sits down on the fountain. Its gentle waters almost drown out the sounds from the ballroom completely. I sit down next to her. Her brow remains furrowed, but the wrinkle on her nose is gone and her teeth are no longer clenched.

   "Why do you host these soirees when they always leave you on the brink of murder?" I ask. My own tone is softer and mushier than I expected—but now that I'm out here, it does feel like I've had a cinderblock sitting on top of my head for the past hour. She sighs once more and the corners of her mouth toy with the idea of smiling.

   "Because it's fun," she says, shaking her head. "You know, you get to eat good food, and—well, even better food than usual—and you get to see the nobility attempt to dress up and suck up to the King and the Princess. I get so much attention, it's hilarious." I cock an eyebrow at her and she grins. "And that's all fine and well, but then you have to drink wine with every meal and, honestly, it tastes like horse piss, it just does. I don't understand why people insist on drinking it," she says, massaging her temples.

   "They're old, their taste buds don't know any better," I state. She snorts.

   "That must be it. And you have to talk to these suck-ups all night like they deserve _your_ attention and kind words. I have to listen to their crappy jokes and laugh as if they're actually funny. I don't know, it's—it's fun, but it has some serious downsides as well," she concludes with a huff.

   "So it's a double-edged sword," I say and she nods.

   "Very much so. People are just so tiring sometimes. You being the obvious exception, but still." My heart skips a beat. The butterflies in my stomach are fluttering wildly out of control, bumping into each other and flying around in circles. I clear my throat and pick at my nails while I scoot slightly closer to her—so close that our thighs almost touch.

   "This is going to sound really sappy, but, uh, you're an exception for me as well. As in, you don't tire me out. Really, you're one of the only people I can be around without you draining my energy," I ramble. Finally, her furrowed brows ease up. Her lips part and she stares at me for a few long moments before answering.

   "Really? I thought you found just about everyone tiring after a while," she says, eyes perusing my face. The butterflies urge me to smile wider.

   "Really. I mean it. I know you so well at this point, being around you is just... totally natural," I say. She falls quiet and during that pause I wonder if I somehow said something wrong.

   "You're not just saying that to please me?" she says with possibly the tiniest voice I've ever heard her use. I shake my head, maintaining our eye contact.

   "Of course not. I'd never toy with you like that," I whisper. Silence reigns between us. She presses her lips together and her gaze drops to her lap. She picks up my hands and I immediately squeeze hers in response. Our thighs touch when she scoots closer to me. Electricity courses through my legs at the touch. She looks back up at me. Then she leans in. Her face gets unreasonably close to mine. I try to raise my hands to hug her, but she isn't letting go. I angle my face away from hers and lean into her right back. Our torsos end up touching awkwardly. She stiffens and pulls back. My stomach stings—the colour has drained from her undertone and she looks like she's seen a ghost. Her mouth opens and closes a few times.

   "I—did I misread this completely?" she whispers. It feels as though I've swallowed a ball of needles.

   "What?" I say. "What do you mean?" She blinks several times and shakes her head.

   "You don't have to pretend just to entertain me. Just... tell me if you don't feel the same way," she says. Now it's my turn to shake my head. It's as if she's speaking another language.

   "Arthas, I have no idea what you're talking about. I know that was an awkward hug, but it wasn't that bad," I say. She narrows her eyes at me. Then she chuckles hollowly.

   "I was trying to kiss you, silly," she whispers, smile clashing with her glistening eyes. Lighting strikes. It shoots through my head and into my stomach. My eyes widen and my jaw drops.

   "Oh," I breathe. "Oh. I didn't even realize." She giggles again and sighs deeply.

   "I'm so sorry, Jaina. You—you obviously don't—" I hold up a hand in front of me and shake my head wildly.

   "No! No, I mean, yes, I'm sorry, I do, I—I was so confused, I can't believe—" I clear my throat. "Listen, okay, start over."

   "What?" she says. I gesture wildly while I speak.

   "You say 'oh, you're not just trying to please me?' and I say 'no, I'd never toy with you', and then you..." I say, letting the sentence trail off, gesturing with my index finger between the two of us. Her smile slowly returns to her face.

   "Really?" she whispers. I nod once.

   "Really." She takes a deep breath. Then she leans in anew. This time, I don't move. Her lips meet mine. A wave washes over me at the touch, from my lips and across my body. The hairs on my neck stand on end. I place my hands on her waist and close my eyes. She wraps her arms around me. My skin could sprout flowers upon her touch. She angles her head slightly and our kiss deepens. I can barely breathe. I lean into her body and feel her breath on my upper lip. She's soft and enchanting. If I could stay here intertwined with her like this for my whole life, I would. She pulls back and we part. For a few seconds, I don't open my eyes. I merely feel the scent of her in my nose and her taste on my lips. Then I gaze upon her once more. She's panting as much as I am, cheeks flushed and mouth hanging open.

   "May I kiss you again?" I breathe. She grins and nods. Without hesitation, I smack my lips onto hers, as if she was a magnet and I was made of iron. My entire body feels electrified. It tingles and my stomach bubbles. I could conquer worlds like this. Our lips part and we let each other in. Her tongue is soft and careful. The taste of apples lingers between us. My toes curl. One hand squeezes her waist hard while the other fiddles with the frills on her skirt. She places one of her hands on my butt. Another wave washes over me.

   The sounds from the ballroom suddenly get louder. We quickly part. Both of our eyes are wide and our cheeks are aflame. We reposition ourselves—her arm ends up draped around my shoulder, and I casually lean into her. Around the fountain peeks an older woman who's breathing heavily, as if she's been running a small marathon. I recognize her as one of the court's many servers. Though I've seen her around the castle before tonight, I couldn't say what her usual role is.

   "Your highness, Lady Proudmoore," she says and curtsies. "Dessert is about to be served. It'd be best if both to return to the ballroom shortly." Arthas nods and clears her throat.

   "Of course, thank you. We'll be right there," she says. The woman nods and slinks back inside. Arthas gazes at me. We can't look at each other for more than a second before we both snort and giggle. Then we help each other up off the fountain. Right when I motion to go back inside, she places a kiss on my cheek. It stops both me and my breath dead in our tracks.

   "I hope for your sake there's something with peppermint in it," she whispers.

 

*

 

I glance behind me. Two of the ships have departed, but a large crowd is still boarding the last one. They push and shove to get on faster, nearly pushing one another into the water in the process. The soldiers are slowly retreating behind me—as they should. They need to make it on as well. Hardening the moisture in the air around me, I fire off another ice spike towards the advancing mass. It pierces the skulls of several monstrosities. Their numbers have waned as we fight them off. But more of them emerge close to our position; scampering out from the narrow streets and alleyways of the town. My stomach feels ice cold. From here, they still look mostly like desperate people as opposed to the undead beasts they really are.

   I take a step forward and hold my breath. I pin my arms down against my sides, then quickly drag them skyward. A wall of ice rises in front of one of the only streets that leads towards the docks. The undead have only one entryway now. Closing my eyes momentarily, I focus my energy and envision my elemental. I summon it from the ground up and it manifests with an ethereal shriek by the other street. The bottleneck now contains a massive bouncer. Straightening their backs once more, the soldiers rush ahead and cut down the undead at the docks, one by one. But one of those huge, cobbled-together monstrosities is lumbering closer. Hopefully this is the last we'll see of its kind. While I surgically remove brains from skulls, a handful of soldiers approach the hulking beast. It heaves its heavy mace into one of their shields, throwing the warrior back with a dent in said steel surface. It takes them a few moments to get back on their feet—I can hear their groans and coughing from here. Having already picked off nearby stragglers, my fingers still tingle with energy.

   "Stand back!" I shout. The fighters leap back, moving closer to the docks again. The beast staggers after them. I curl my fingers and tear at the air with an inelegant growl. A rain of ice shards shoots towards the beast. It roars in pain as ice pierces its eyeballs and the guts hanging freely from its belly. With another hand flourish, I release a second wave of ice. This time it halts the beast’s advance. By the third wave, the soldiers assault the monster anew, slashing at its knees. It topples backwards and they swiftly put it out of its misery with a blade to its malformed head. The square is almost clear, inhabited only by us and a few slow, lumbering zombies. I glance back again. The very last survivors are setting foot on the ship. I let myself breathe a sigh of relief.

   "Go!" I say, gesturing towards the boat with my head. The soldiers hesitantly pull back. I remain. They might need a wooden plank to board the ship, but I don't. My heart sinks and the sigh is shoved right back down my throat when I look at the hills beside the town for just a moment. Their green grass is overshadowed by the mass of rotting bodies heading towards us. And they're fast. They're already tumbling down the hill, throwing themselves over the cliff-side, down onto the docks. They don't care how many arms or legs they break. They can keep going. With a snap of my fingers, my elemental pulls back and places itself between both the waves from the town and the masses coming from the hills. It won't last long, now.

   I glance at the boat. The soldiers have boarded, but I catch sight of something else out of the corner of my eye. Something that doesn’t look like a zombie. I gaze back towards the hill, trying to catch it again. I do. And it knocks every last bit of breath out of me.

   Even from this distance, I recognize her. She stands out against the dying grasslands and the hordes of walking corpses like a wraith. She's looking directly at me.

   My body moves on its own. I creep closer, as if walking on air. The undead around me might as well not exist. The closer I get, the more every breath hurts. It's as if my throat is lined with sandpaper.

   Her hair has turned white as snow. All colour has drained from her skin. It's so pale, it seems ghostly. She looks impossibly tall atop the undead steed that carries her and there's an unfamiliar blade by her side that she isn't using. Instead, she's leaning on her horse like a bored schoolgirl, staring at me from underneath her white locks. Her expression is hollow and unreadable. If I didn't know any better, I'd think her dead alongside her monstrous army.

   We maintain eye-contact while I get closer. She's not moving an inch. She only stares at me with that lifeless gaze. What I wouldn't give to know what's going through her mind.

   "Proudmoore!" Other sounds finally penetrate my trance. I tear my gaze away from her and look around me. The boat has safely taken to sea and the undead are nearly close enough to nip at my heels. My elemental bursts into a shower of seawater, and I erect a barrier of thin ice around me. Seconds later, a handful monsters are clawing at my shield. I swing my staff and concentrate. Bright, blue light envelops me and my body grows numb. The sensation spreads from my fingers, to my neck, to my toes. I maintain eye-contact with her all the while. She doesn't even blink.

   Consumed by the light, I regain feeling in my limbs. My feet land on the ship’s wooden deck. I whip my head around to look at the docks. Someone speaks to me, but I can barely hear yet. Nor would I if I could. I stagger towards the edge of the boat and my stomach plays with the thought of emptying its contents. I stare at the hillside like it had insulted me. She's no longer where she was mere seconds ago. I can't find her amongst the hordes of undead either. They've already swarmed the entire town. No matter where I look, there's no wraith of a woman to be found, no death on a pale horse. Was there ever?

   Someone touches my shoulder, trying to talk to me. My stomach decides to make good on its threat.


	3. Chapter 3

Drawing a single breath is like breathing fire. One. Two. Then I lose track. My surroundings change. They're all equally blurry, but I can tell. An ocean of white becomes ashen grey, becomes barren red, becomes billowing green. All the while, my chest aches and I can’t feel my hands. Voices penetrate the ringing in my ears.

   I draw one long, sharp breath, ache diminishing every second. Then another one. It's like working a muscle that's been neglected. Unfortunately, the hurt has spread to the rest of my body. I can't for the life of me figure out what's up and what's down. I furrow my brows, a ragged groan escaping my throat. My eyes feel welded shut, but I force them open. One by one. All that lies before me is grey. On closer inspection, grey stone. Cobblestone.

   Another jolt of pain shoots through my shoulders and my face draws into a grimace. I tilt my head, trying to stretch and relieve the muscles. Nausea coils up my dry throat. The sensation is unbearable. I can't remember when I last felt anything like this. I try to move my feet, but a loud grating noise stops me in my tracks. Gazing down at my boot, I realize it's stuck to a massive chain. A puzzle piece falls into place in my head. I strain my neck to look up. My hands are stuck in a vertical position by virtue of similar chains on the stone wall behind me. No wonder everything aches.

   Noise echoes against the walls. Noise that doesn’t originate from me or my chains. Sluggishly, I let my gaze drop and look straight ahead of me. My eyes slowly adjust. Cell bars and armoured soldiers emerge from the blur. Bow strings tighten, shields raise, and fists glow. All I can do is stare. One soldier steps forward, hands behind their back. As they get closer and my vision improves, I can make out their face. It's one I recognize. Fordring.

   A pyre erupts in my gut. Then a dull pain seeps into my skull. It hurts all the way to my jaw and I can't help but grimace. It's like a creeping cold bleeding into my veins. All the hurt vanishes. I'm numb again—and beside my body. As if I'm merely watching it through a window. I gaze down at my feet. This is me. I know it is. But am I truly here? A cold mist has settled into the small cell, once again obscuring my vision. I can't tell if it's really there.

   I look up without intending to. My eyes scan the crowd outside. A sting penetrates my stomach when a grin spreads across my face. Smiling is about the last thing I feel like doing.

   "You intend to keep my here with mere chains? Have you learned nothing?" I say, but it's not my voice. Mine is weak and ragged, easily overshadowed by the deep, booming reverb of the other. At the same time, my eyes well up. My knees would give out if I was standing. My breath stalls, choked by the needles in my gut. This is all too familiar.

   With a single powerful pull, I yank the chain holding my right arm off of the wall. Then the other. Fordring shouts something to his soldiers, but I'm not listening. Neither of us are. I rise as though my knees weren't shaking. It takes no effort to break the chains on my feet. I can simply walk right out of them. They make awful grating noises, dragging behind me as I swagger towards the cell bars. I want to scream. To whine. To cuss and shout and berate. Anything. But I can't even will the tears to drip from my eyelashes.

   One of the braver soldiers jabs their sword at me through the cell bars. It bounces off of the chest plate that they didn't take off. Were they afraid to touch me? I quickly seize their hand. They yelp, dropping their sword. I step closer, reach through the bars, and grab them by the collar, smashing their helmeted forehead into one of the bars. I shove them back, then pull them in again. I can only swallow hard at the loud cracking noise it makes. Throwing the soldier into their comrades, I grab onto one metal bar with each hand. They screech in my grasp as I pry them apart. A barrier of light appears just beyond the bars, rendering the effort futile. My hands drop and a hollow laugh rumbles in my chest.

   "You poor fools. Try as much as you like, but you'll never keep me—" Another voice cuts through the fog.

   "Arthas!" Jaina squeezes through the crowd of soldiers, hurrying towards the transparent barrier. She dodges Fordring's hand and places herself directly in front of it. Directly in front of me.

   "Arthas! You'll stop this nonsense right now if you know what's good for you!" she barks. There isn't a hint of doubt or softness to her tone. My breath has stalled completely. I'm shivering. She's right there. Closer than she has been for years. So, so many years. If not for the barrier, I could reach out and touch her. The headache returns like a lightning strike. My knees finally do give out. I drop to the ground, clutching my head, forcing breaths into my lungs. My head only amplifies the pain in every single one of my joints. The fog recedes. The headache subsides. My vision clears.

   My hands slam onto the ground to support my weight. I'm shaking. But I can feel the inside of my glove? I can feel the inside of my leather glove. I can feel how my armour hugs my body and how my white hair falls across my forehead. Breathing unevenly, I wrestle off a glove. I toss it aside and touch the cold stone ground. With a sharp exhalation, I pull off the other and touch my face. I'm almost as cold. But it _is_ me. It's me. I'm here. I'm back. I double over, hands on my sides, hugging my form.

   "Arthas?" This time her voice is soft as snow. My gaze snaps up to meet hers. Her eyes are wide and flanked by furrowed brows and dark circles. I grab on to the crooked bars and pull myself up. My knees quiver as I come to stand, and I have to lean against said bars. Jaina simply stares at me. Her lips have parted and there's a wrinkle between her brows.

   "Jaina," I breathe, voice weak and dry. A shadow of a smile flashes across her face. Then Fordring's hand lands on her shoulder.

   "Lady Proudmoore, we should talk. Now," he states. Jaina nods at him and then shoots me a quick glance.

   "Don't go," I whisper, so low I'm not sure she can hear me. Jaina blinks and gets just a little bit closer to the barrier.

   "Stay calm while I'm gone. I won't be long," she says. My stomach sinks. Almost instinctively, I place my bare palm up against the hard-light surface, right in front of her. Its energy tingles in my fingers. She doesn't return the gesture. She turns her back to me and strides out of the small room outside of the cell with Fordring. I slide back onto the floor, sinking alongside my stomach. I'm left facing the numerous soldiers, their weapons and gazes trained on me. Their faces are as hard as the stone floor. I fondle the cold, hard surface of the metal bars while the headache creeps up on me anew. With a jab in my stomach I clutch my head, grabbing fistfuls of hair and moving my jaw back and forth. It's a slow, painful soothing.

 

*

 

With a deep sigh, I lean against the tall desk. Sunbeams lie splashed upon the wooden floors. They radiate warmth, making the room both warmer and brighter than the dungeons. Tirion settles into one of the plush chairs. It creaks in sync with his sigh that's just as deep as mine.

   "It seems as though we were both right," I say. He nods once and I drag my palms across my face.

   "There's far more of Arthas in her than I expected," he says. My heart skips a beat and I shake my head.

   "There's not just 'a lot' of Arthas in her, she _is_ Arthas. She's—she's there, entirely, I think. She just has the Lich along for the ride," I say, voice turning into a murmur the more I talk. His eyes widen momentarily, and he runs his fingers through his grey hair.

   "Well, they obviously aren't one and the same anymore. Even I can tell that much. But then the question remains—what exactly _are_ we dealing with, here?" My head feels hollow as I try to think up an answer. It's like trying to envision a complete puzzle with half the pieces missing.

   "I don't know. Not yet," I mumble.

   "So, what do you suggest we do? You're the one with the magical expertise, here," he says, gesturing towards me as if presenting me before an invisible crowd. I bite my lip and mull it over. Possibility after possibility pops into my mind, none of them entirely optimal. I let out another sigh that’s even more strained than the last one.

   "Do you remember what Uther Lightbringer told me?" I ask, glancing towards him. He lowers his chin slightly.

   "That there must always be a Lich Queen?" I nod once.

   "This might actually benefit us, the way I see it. When they're both present like this, in some way, then we have Arthas back, but we'll also prevent the scourge running wild in the Lich King's absence. We won't all be consumed, and we aren't left with a—a hollow monster, either." My voice breaks as I speak and I have to pause to clear my throat. "I reckon that, because both Frostmourne and the Helm are no more, she's returned to rival the lich in her own body. So, if she can fulfil that purpose while still being herself, we might never have to worry about the scourge ever again," I say, allowing a slight smile to pull at the corners of my mouth. Tirion crosses his arms.

   "That's a big 'might', Jaina," he says. I swallow hard, smile evaporating as quickly as it arrived.

   "I know. I know. But, we have no idea how this works—and, you know, she might not either. We might as well be optimistic at the moment, right?" Tirion blinks and presses his lips together in acknowledgement. "Best case scenario, we have an Arthas who's fully herself, but also able to be, well, the Lich Queen," I explain. He stares at me with furrowed brows.

   "Worst case scenario?" he asks. My gaze drops to the floor and I fiddle with the hem of my shirt.

   "Then... we might have a Lich Queen who we can't kill," I say, voice low. Tirion hesitates.

   "Because we can't pass on the crown." I nod rigidly.

   "And we have an Arthas who—who's—" My voice almost lacks the strength to finish speaking. Tirion is already nodding.

   "We have the Arthas who brought down Lordaeron and the Lich alongside her," I conclude. He opens his mouth to speak again, but my mind shoves more words out of my mouth.

   "But, honestly, Tirion? I don't think we do. I just don't think so," I quickly say. I don't see the room in front of me anymore—my mind is focused on the images of her that I've known through the years. The young, powerful personality I lost at Stratholme. The wraith of a woman I've seen only from a distance, who destroyed her own heritage, who murdered thousands of innocents. And the Lich Queen. The Queen who coldly ignored me. Who nearly killed me. No matter how hard I think, I cannot see that thing in the jailed woman who whispered my name. They are not one and the same.

   "The woman in the dungeons is not the genocidal ghost who crushed a nation. I'm certain of it. Even if the Lich remains within her," I whisper. Tirion stares at me, and silence reigns between us for a few moments. Tension permeates the atmosphere.

   "Well. There's only one way to find out," he states.

 

*

 

She grips the cell bars tightly and pulls herself to her feet with a groan. The Argent soldiers' eyes shift between us as I stride through their little group. Finally, she stands upright and faces me, still about a foot taller than me. A shadow of a smile flashes across her face, but I furrow my brows.

   "Are you hurt?" I ask, making an effort to keep my tone gentle. Her smile widens into a grin.

   "Well. Contrary to popular belief, being knocked out and then strung up like a butchered pig isn't the most comfortable thing in the world," she says. A fuzzy warmth spreads from my stomach to my finger tips and I have to strain myself not to smile along. It almost soothes my hammering heart and washes away the living image in front of me—the ghostly pale woman with the white hair. She sighs, studying my face with her gaze.

   "Can these soldiers leave us be?" she asks. My breathing stalls for a moment. With a nod I gesture for the troops to leave the room. One of the lieutenants stares at me.

   "Are you sure, Lady Proudmoore?" they ask. I cock a brow at them. They step back, give me a quick nod, and follow their troops out of the dungeons. As soon as they shut the door behind them, I sit myself down in front of her cell. She follows me down with a strained exhalation, movements stiff and twitchy. I examine her face right back.

   I've only ever seen her like this from a distance. Obscured. She looks much like she did the day she left us—only, the colours have been all but drained from her. Like she’s been bled dry, uncharacteristically gaunt and ashen. The dark lines underneath her eyes are even worse than mine after several days of non-stop research or diplomacy. And yet, underneath the unfamiliarity and her battered exterior, her features are still their marked, angular selves. The thin lips, less pink than usual, and the aquiline nose that I used to press kisses to. My gut churns. From the memories and the deep uncanniness of her visage.

   I press my lips together as I gaze into her eyes. They've turned a shade of bright, unnatural green instead of the pale seafoam I'm so familiar with. I've gazed upon her just like this countless times. And now it's like looking at a reflection of the woman I once knew. The woman I'd have dedicated my life to.

   She lets me stare, making no move to speak or otherwise interrupt me. She merely gazes at me with those vivid eyes.

   "Do you remember what happened?" I ask, voice weaker than I'd anticipated. Her gaze wavers for a moment as she furrows her brows and presses her lips together.

   "I don't think so, no," she says. Her voice is still dry and low, and she clears her throat after speaking.

   "How much _do_ you remember? From the end of that fight?" I ask. She blinks several times before answering, eyes narrow.

   "I remember killing them with the intent to make them mine," she mutters, then tilts her head. "Well, its. Not mine. And... I felt this sharp pain, going from my hand and my head down through my spine. As if I'd been struck by lightning. And then I woke up here, like this. And—and _I'm_... here," she says, voice weakening into a whisper with the last sentence. I clench my jaw.

   "You don't remember where that pain came from at all?" I ask.

   "No, but... given that Frostmourne is no longer with me..." she says, letting the sentence trail off. She opens and closes her right hand like a baby intuitively practicing its grip. I nod, weak smile pulling at the corners of my mouth.

   "Frostmourne did break. As did the helmet," I explain. Her eyes widen and her lips part.

   "Oh. I see." She runs her fingers through her ashen hair. "That explains a lot." I tilt my head at her.

   "It does?" She scrunches up her mouth, making an expression in-between a smile and a grimace.

   "Well, I actually, you know, feel things now?" she says. My stomach sinks, cooling as if I'd swallowed an ice cube.

   "That's novel?" I ask, voice lower. She nods.

   "It's not usually me feeling anything. I have all of its memories, but... I'm not sure how to explain it. It's like I was only tangentially present for any of it. Like I was watching it through a blurry window or—or a reflection in a lake," she says, gesturing a little bit as she explains. "But I'm actually here now. It is, too, but... I'm here." Once again she flexes her fingers, gazing upon them as if they were someone else's. I swallow hard and wet my lips before speaking again.

   "When's the last time you—you felt like you were 'here'?" I ask. She exhales sharply through a weak smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

   "Good question," she breathes. I smile back at her with tight lips. Had I been able to, I'd have put my hand on top of hers in reassurance. Instead, my arm only twitches with intent.

   "Take your time," I say. She sighs, once again running a hand through her hair that settles on her neck as she gazes around the small cell, not truly looking at anything in particular.

   "I'm not really sure. It's—it's a slippery slope," she says, once again hesitating. I nod slowly, careful not to push her.

   "I was still me after Stratholme, I think." My stomach stings at the mere word. "And during the events in Northrend, before—before—"

   "Before you returned to Lordaeron?" I interject. She nods, clenching her jaw with a distant gaze.

   "But, you know, it wasn't me at my best, so to speak. I was—I was desperate and emotional, I think. I'm not sure if its influence could've reached that far," she says, pressing her brows together. I grimace.

   "I can't say either," I say.

   "It was probably just me," she whispers, then clears her throat again. I take a deep breath to steady my hammering heart.

   "But things changed as soon as I picked up that sword. I know that now, even if that’s not how I saw it at the time," she says.

   "What happened, exactly?" I ask. She takes a deep, quiet breath.

   "I stopped feeling anything. It spoke to me, you know. So it—"

   "Seriously?" I interrupt. She smiles once.

   "Seriously. It's as if—as if it eroded my emotions and replaced them with a desire to serve. It was still me, in some way, I was still present. I just didn't feel anything. I didn't care. I had no purpose other than..." She trails off, shaking her head.

   "I think I get the picture. I mean, the sword, it—it stole your soul," I say.

   "Like it did everyone else it killed," she mutters. I chew on my lower lip a little and pick at my nails before asking further.

   "And this changed somehow when you put on the helmet?"

   "At first it was more harmonious. I was still its, no doubt about that, but at least I was mentally present. Didn't last long," she says, voice turning into a mere whisper. She tries to clear her throat again but ends up coughing violently.

   "You know those dreams where you become aware that you're dreaming, but you can't actually wake yourself up?" she says, voice coarse but under control. I cringe.

   "Yes, I do. Hate those," I say.

   "It was like that." I tilt my head at her.

   "Is it more equal now, you think?" She raises her brows momentarily.

   "Probably? I'm, you know, I'm actually more or less myself now. Not just its plaything. But it's definitely still here, so... I don't know, Jaina. I think so, but I can't really say. Not yet." She says my name as a hushed whisper, as if she was quietly uttering the name of a vengeful goddess as to not invoke her ire. I hum, picking at my lips with my nails.

   "It'd be nice to have some specifics," I mutter. She narrows her eyes, making my stomach sting slightly.

   "I don't have specifics. I know as little as you do," she says. I sigh and shift on the cold, stone floor, trying to maintain a smile.

   "Well that's not quite true. You're the one living this, not me. Regardless, we'll just have to figure—" She interrupts me with a scoff.

   "It should've been you," she growls. My breath stalls and my heart sinks. I stare at her, gripping my shirt as if I held on for dear life. She's staring into the ground with a wrinkle on her nose.

   "What?" I breathe. She shakes her head slightly, wrinkle deepening.

   "This should've happened to you. Or someone like you. At least you'd have some idea where to start figuring this out," she mutters. My stomach quivers and I swallow hard in an attempt to calm it.

   "Arthas, how can you say that—" She clenches her fist and interrupts me.

   "But it didn't happen to you, it happened to me! Because of course it did. The only people who'd ever do what I did are either as desperate or as stupid." As she speaks, her irises flash blue. It's an eerie, almost iridescent glow. Its mere suggestion sends shivers down my spine. I grit my teeth and straighten my back, vanquishing the sting in my gut.

   "Arthas, you didn't know what would happen. I didn't either, and how could we? We had no idea how it worked. It might as well have been me fighting the scourge with everything I had. I mean, the only real guidance we had came from an old mage who could turn into a bird," I say, keeping my voice even and adding a smile at the end for emphasis. "Nobody made it easy for us. That's for sure."

   "And now I'm just... stuck here like this. Not knowing what I am," she whispers. I close my mouth and exhale slowly. She sits perfectly still while I run my fingers through my hair, scratch my chin, and fiddle with my shirt.

   "I assume people want my head for everything we've done," she says. I click my tongue.

   "I'm vouching for you, don't worry. I mean, we have absolutely no idea what would happen if you were to die. Worst case scenario, it would result in an unchecked, rampaging scourge. Because with no crown, we have nobody to take over after you," I explain. Her gaze drops and her nostrils briefly.

   "To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure I even _can_ die anymore," she says. A fuzzy, electric feeling prickles in my stomach. It's the exact same feeling I get when I get my hands on a new spell book or have an idea for a spell of my very own. I lean forwards towards her.

   "What makes you say that?" I ask. She twists her mouth.

   "Well, for one thing, I don't think I've aged since... this whole mess." She gestures towards herself. "Since undeath. At least I don't think I have. Haven't spent much time admiring myself in mirrors, unfortunately," she muses, and I can't help but smile for a moment as a very different kind of fuzzy feeling spreads through me. I have to blink and clear my throat to rid my mind's eye of just how many times I've admired and studied her face, hands on her cheeks, crooked grin on her face.

   "Of course," I mutter. She crosses her arms and shifts in her seat—it’s the first time she’s done that since we started speaking down here on the floor.

   "That, and I don't have a heart anymore. Technically speaking, I'm not actually 'alive' at all," she says. My smile immediately falters. The fuzz is replaced by ice cold nausea. My lips part as I mull it over. That's what Tirion was on about. It seemed abstract and metaphorical to me when he'd told me, and he hadn't been keen on elaborating. I still remember the look on his face—he didn't look like he'd seen just one ghost, he'd seen a whole army of them. But it was no metaphor at all.

   "Is the Lich what's keeping you alive?" I ask with too much air. She shrugs.

   "Likely so. Something keeps the death knights alive as well. My magic, presumably. Could be the same thing, if not just something similar," she mumbles. I twist and turn her words in my mind, frantically picking at my shirt.

   "So you physically have no heart?" I whisper. She exhales in place of a laugh, a shadow of a smile flashing across her face.

   "I'm heartless," she says. Though I recognize the joke, nothing pulls at the corners of my mouth.

   "What does that... feel like?" I ask, tone careful as if there's a bomb in her chest that I dare not disturb.

   "Uh, it—it's—difficult to explain." She hums and shifts her jaw back and forth. "It's cold," she says, another slight smile creeping onto her face. It falters when I don't return it.

   "It's very strange. It's as if I'm... very still most of the time. As if I could keep going forever, never stopping. Like..." She exhales deeply. "I really don't know how to explain it."

   "No wonder. Take your time," I say.

   "I feel things like I used to. My sense of touch is doing perfectly fine. My body just works a bit differently, I think. There's no... hammering heart, for example, if I get angry. So. Like that," she says. My hand has migrated upwards to pull at my collar and trace my collarbone.

   "I see. I... I'm sorry," I mutter, wanting to add more, but the words just don't present themselves. She merely presses her lips together. A very different line of questioning works just fine, however.

   "How does your body work, then? Can you still eat things? Do you even still _need_ to eat? Do you need sustenance at all?" I ask. Her gaze hardens and she clenches her jaw.

   "Haven't exactly had a chance to try," she says. A sting pierces my gut. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

   "Right. Sorry," I say.

   "I'm not a science experiment," she growls. The sting deepens. I shake my head wildly.

   "No, I know. I know that," I mutter.

   "Then act like it," she says, crossing her arms. At that, the sting erupts into a pyre. My hand balls up into a fist.

   "Don't you talk to me like that. We both know very little about what's happened to you, so forgive me for trying to figure it out," I say. She merely stares at me with that stone-cold expression.

   "Certainly not for my sake. For all I know you're planning to keep me in this tiny cell for as long as I live," she says, gazing at the walls as if they'd insulted her dignity.

   "You're a criminal, Arthas! Do you understand that?" I say, finally raising my voice.

   "That doesn't mean that—" I hold up a rigid finger to silence her.

   "Right now I'm trying to keep your very existence a secret, because if anyone found out, the leaders of _every_ faction on Azeroth would be demanding your head on a silver platter." Arthas winces.

   "I know that," she snarls.

   "Then act like you do," I retort. "Arthas, for crying out loud, you committed genocide! And I don't even know if that's all on you or on the Lich or somewhere in-between. I need—we need to figure that out, on top of sorting out who or what you even are now. And all you'll tell us is that you don't know and that it's hard to explain, which really doesn't—"

   "I can't give you information I don't have!" she shrieks, making me jump in my seat. "I just became aware again after… _years_ of glorified slumber—after being trapped in my own mind, and—and all you do is torment me with questions that I can’t answer!" Her voice changes while she speaks, the deep, booming reverb creeping in. The subtle glow in her eyes becomes more and more dominant. "I don't know what kind of monster I am! What more do you want from me?!" she screeches.

   As soon as the words leave her mouth, her features fall into a cold, somber expression. A shiver runs down my spine as she stares directly into my eyes, hers glowing. The pyre has been totally extinguished. All that's left is a bundle of ice cold needles. I take a deep breath, steadying my breathing a little.

   "Who am I speaking to right now?" I ask. Her eyes peruse my face, not even flinching.

   "You should really be more careful," she says. I can't hear Arthas' voice. I can only hear the Lich. "Both of you," she concludes. I press my lips together.

   "You tell me, then. Fill me in on what she doesn't understand. How equal is your presence in her body?" I ask, trying not to let my lower lip quiver like it wants to. A grin creeps onto her face and she chuckles, raising the hairs on my neck.

   "Now why would I ever do that? The more you keep your poor little wayward princess here, the more you 'torment' her, the more of a playground she is to me. I don't have to tell you a thing," she says. Embers flare in my stomach again. I let my lips scrunch up, and my face falls into a grimace. I grip the cell bars and pull myself to my feet. She follows me up without a hint of struggle. Her movements are smooth and mechanical. I take one last look at her before my gaze drops. Then I stride towards the door leading out of the cell room.

   "You and I both know this will end in disaster, Jaina," the Lich says, flinging my name at me like an insult. "It's only a matter of time." I shove the dungeon door open and march outside, glaring daggers at the guards. They cower as if I'd thrown knives at them.

   "Quit standing around and get back in there!" I bark.

 

*

 

Her eyes flash blue as her gaze turns distant. She mirrors my fiddling and picks at her nails, teeth sinking into her lower lip. For once, she looks smaller than me.

   "I don't like to think about it," she breathes. Despite her voice having healed since our last conversation, she still manages to sound like a sick child on the brink of crying. I smile at her, more genuinely than usual.

   "I can understand that. Do you think you can find a way to answer without having to reinsert yourself into those memories?" I say, full well realizing that that could be a long process. A very, very long process. I certainly never fully succeeded in my own attempts. She shakes her head.

   "No. It's fine," she whispers. She grows still as she furrows her brows and seems to glare at something that isn’t actually in front of us. A faint blue glow remains in her eyes, pulsing every few seconds. Finally, she clears her throat, making me jump in my seat.

   "I think I've said it before, but... it's a slippery slope. All I'm certain of is that I changed when I picked up Frostmourne. It just got worse and worse from there," she says.

   "And in Lordaeron?" I interject. She presses her lips together.

   "I'm getting there," she mutters. I swallow hard and nod. She has to change her position on the floor a few times and clear her throat over and over before she speaks again.

   "I wasn't myself. In any way. Even less so than I am now," she says, voice light and fragile. "Frostmourne filled my head with ideas. Pushing out who I was, my own goals, my own ideals—all of that. It promised to fulfil my every desire, all the things I didn't dare say out loud, but..." She sighs and smiles slightly, but it's a strained expression.

   "They were my desires, yes, but the idea to act on them wasn't. Does that make any sense?" she concludes, looking up at me as though I had a knife to her throat, just waiting to slash at any sign of doubt. I simply nod.

   "I think so, yes. What kind of desires are we talking?" I ask. She lowers her gaze slightly, once again peering into the unknown for a few long moments.

   "Responsibility. Lessening it," she whispers, partly covering her mouth with her fingers. I can only barely hear her words. An ice cube of realization drops into my stomach. She shakes her head, shivering ever so slightly. If you didn't know her as well as I do, you never would’ve noticed her quivering breath.

   "But Jaina, I—I never would have done this on my own. You have to believe me. Even if—even if it was too much sometimes, even if being righteous and—the—waiting on the burden of ruling and—and everything that involves, I never _ever_ would've done this. I wouldn't. I swear to you, I wouldn't," she rambles, once again evoking images of a pleading death row prisoner. I lean forwards towards the magical barrier.

   "I know, Arthas. Trust me, I believe you. Because I know you," I say, smiling at her even though I can tears building in the corners of my eyes. "I know what you're like, and I remember what you're like. And that's why it was so—it was so very difficult to believe the news I heard from Lordaeron that day," I say. She blinks hard, drops her gaze, and clenches her jaw. Meanwhile, I lean back and wet my dry lips.

   "Arthas, thank you for telling me," I say. She doesn't look back up.

   "Tirion's informed the public that you're dead, that the Lich Queen is no more, but honestly? Knowing that you, the woman sitting in front of me now, didn't 'mastermind' the fall of Lordaeron, so to speak, will probably help me out a lot—well, both of us, really. Because if Tirion knows that you yourself aren't dangerous, save for the Lich within you, I can probably convince them—I can convince the Argent Dawn to not keep you in a prison forever," I explain. She nods once.

   "What's happened to Lordaeron since?" she asks, finally meeting my gaze again. "What's there now? Ruins?" Her voice turns almost inaudibly light with the last word. I go perfectly still for a few moments while a sting penetrates my stomach. For a moment, I consider merely nodding and telling her 'yes'.

   "It's the home of the Forsaken, now. The undead people who joined the Horde of their own volition. They live in the ruins of the city and underneath it, as far as I know, though I can't say I’ve visited it recently," I explain. "But I do know that they follow Sylvanas Windrunner as their Queen. She rules the Forsaken from down below." I'm about to explain who she is, but Arthas raises her brows at the mention of her name. Her gaze turns far more steely than it was mere seconds ago.

   "Does she really?" she mumbles. I nod with a generous helping of tension in my stomach. Whether that's a rhetorical question or not is beyond me. She concludes with a hum and furrows her brow ever so slightly. It's more of a twitch, really. She shifts in her seat and ends up changing her position entirely before settling down with a deep sigh.

   "My bones are starting to hurt from sitting on this stone floor all the time," she mumbles. My lips can't help but curl into a grin.

   "Oh, my apologies to your padded ass," I say. She snorts and mirrors my expression, finally flashing that crooked smile at me. It's no elegant sound, but it's like music to my ears. A tune I haven't heard in so long, I'd almost forgotten what it sounds like. And hearing it again, it's almost like she was never really gone.

   "I guess I'm lucky that I don't have to sleep. Then I’d be hurting in other places besides my ass right now," she says, looking at me with wrinkles around her eyes. I return her warm glace, savouring every bit of it.

   "Well. I suppose I could move you to a more accommodating cell," I say. She tilts her head at me, making her smile seem even more lopsided.

   "Are you sure that's alright? Do you have..." she draws circles with her wrist, "clearance for that?" she asks. I raise my brows and nod.

   "Of course. Besides, Tirion doesn't have to know. I can make my own decisions, thank you very much," I say. "And I'm slowly buttering him up to give you a longer leash, anyway." She grimaces and chuckles once.

   "Oh, don't say it like that," she grumbles. Now it's my turn to snort inelegantly.

   "I'm buttering him up so I can gobble him up," I say, voice bouncing with laughter. She shudders and sticks her tongue out with an exaggerated retch. Even my stomach churns at my own words, though my giggles help deafen it.

   "You're awful," she says. I can only nod and hum in agreement. My joints crack and pop as I get up from the floor—my butt is sore just from spending some half an hour on it. I can only imagine how hers feels at this point. She gets up alongside me. I hear no pops, but her groans and stiff movements say it all.

   "Should I help you out of that gaudy armour?" I ask. Wide-eyed, she freezes and stares at me.

   "I can do it myself, you know," she says. I twist my mouth.

   "Not with those chains around your wrists," I say and stride towards the key bundle on the wall. The fact that it hangs freely on the wall betrays just how much trust the Argent soldiers place in that magical barrier—and in each other.

   "I can just tear—" she says, but I hush her.

   "No, allow me. That'd be much too disruptive," I mutter, flipping through key after key. The slightly chipped one is for the cell and the smaller ones must be for the cuffs.

   "Are you sure you should be doing this alone?" she asks. I turn back towards her and shake my head, still smiling.

   "Hush and let me handle it," I say. I snap my fingers. The magical barrier in front of the cell disappears in an instant. Out billows cold air, eager to spread into the newly available space. She shuffles her feet, examining the bars, the cell door, me. I rattle the bundle and release the cell key from the rest. I stick it in the lock and hear her wince—a sharp intake of air through gritted teeth. Glancing at her, she’s clutching her head with her hands, eyes pressed shut. My heart-rate picks up, fingers tightening around the key. As her eyelids part anew, beams of blue light shine out between her lashes. This glow slowly subsides and her breaths deepen.

   "Are you okay?" I ask. She nods once.

   "It's fine. I'm fine," she breathes. I hesitate, fingers still gripping the key tightly.

   "You're sure?" She nods and looks at me, a weak smile spreading across her lips. I finally turn the key in the lock, heavy metal clanking in response. I push open the creaky door and enter the cell with her. It's still a handful degrees colder in here than it is in the room outside. I shudder and rustle my hair as I stride towards her. I flip through the keys and select one of the smallest ones. Sticking it into one of the cuffs on her wrists, which she helpfully holds up in front of me, it clicks in the lock and the cuff comes off. I twist it off of her and let it drop to the ground with a loud clang. Repeating the motion with the remaining cuffs, she quickly pulls off her bracers and what remains of her gloves. While I'm already crouched down, I pat her calf and she steps out of her massive boot. We work together like clockwork, until only her chest plate and pauldrons remain. Each shoulder pad feels as heavy as an enormous stack of books—one of those you have to peek around because it obscures your view when you carry it. She lifts up the chest plate as though it was made of mere cardboard. I reach out to take it off her hands, and it almost sinks me like a cannonball would a ship. It lands before my feet inelegantly, but not hard enough to damage it.

   Gazing at the armour pieces now scattered around the cell, shivers slither down my spine once more. The armour is like a shed shell, no longer containing and weighing down what's inside. I look up at her and open my mouth to speak, but end up silencing myself with a smile instead. She's massaging and rolling her shoulders and tilting her head back and forth with her eyes closed. Her every breath is deep and noisy—and now I can hear her joints popping.

   "No wonder you're sore all over," I say. Her only response is a blissful smile—one that I have no choice but to admire for a few long moments. Standing back up, I grab hold of her bare wrist. We both gasp and jump in place. Her eyes fly wide open and she presses her lips together. I almost let go of her but resist the urge. She's as cold as the stone surrounding her. We both stare at each other with wide eyes. My lips curl into a sheepish smile and I will myself to grab on with both hands. Her shoulders slowly come back down from around her ears, and she relaxes ever so slightly in my grasp. I lead her out of the cell, then out of this dungeon room. Pushing the door open, the Argent soldiers all look at me, then gaze back at her. Their undertones go pale and their mouths drop open at the sight of her.

   "Don't worry, I'm just moving her to a different cell," I say. Nobody responds. Their eyes are glued to her. We stride past them and I try to keep a friendly smile on my face. I glance back at her just in time to see her jerk towards one of the guards. All she does is take a quick, heavy step towards them, threatening to throw her weight at them. They gasp and throw themselves back into the wall. As a result, the other guards tighten bowstrings and unsheathe swords, so pale that their lips go various shades of blue. I smack Arthas on the arm. On anyone else it'd leave a bruise—on her, I'm not so sure.

   "Arthas!" I snarl. "What are you, five? Grow up!" All she does is giggle and cover her mouth with her fingers. I smack her again, a little lighter but no less livid. She shoots me an impish glance. With a deep sigh, I address the guards behind her.

   "Come along, I promise she doesn't _actually_ bite. She just has the same sense of humour as a spoiled child," I say, glaring up at the ex-princess who sneers right back.

 

*

 

"But, Jaina—how've _you_ been?" Arthas asks, adjusting one of the pillows she's surrounded herself with. My breath stalls for a moment before exhaling deeply and leaning my head back against the brick wall behind me.

   "Took you long enough to ask," I say, trying to make my tone sound as teasing as possible. She smirks.

   "I know. Everything's been kind of upside down, so I admittedly didn't really think to ask," she says and scratches her head. I wiggle my toes and loosen up my torso with a sigh.

   "I didn't exactly think to tell you, either," I say. While I find the words, examining the years I've spend studying and researching and being a diplomat, we sit next to each other in comfortable silence.

   "Well. I've kept busy," I finally say. She chuckles once.

   "Surprise," she says. I can't help but smirk back. "Any new spells you want to tell me about?" she asks. My smirk immediately turns sheepish and my stomach grows fuzzy.

   "I—I've mostly been refining what I already know, actually. You know, combining old into new, figuring out new and better uses and rotations," I explain. "Oh, you should _see_ my water elemental! It's a lot more powerful than when you last saw it, I'd reckon." Her eyes light up with a twinkle.

   "Oh, I don't doubt it," she says, like a child being promised a fireworks show.

   "Generally everything is a lot bigger and better now. Kind of like myself," I say, winking with both eyes. She doesn't respond, but merely regards me with a smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts. I have to clear my throat and shift in my seat to find my stream of consciousness again.

   "But, really, there's been a lot going on, so I haven't had much time to simply study and create new spells and learn things that don't come from experience," I say. She presses her lips together.

   "Sorry to hear that." I shrug.

   "I'm sure I'll get the opportunity soon. No matter what, I'm a more powerful mage now. One of the many benefits of experience," I say and sink into my seat. Arthas nods, watching me with folded hands.

   “But, Jaina… are you _happy_?” she asks. “Have you been happy?” My breath stalls for a moment. Memories dash past my inner eye. How in the world would I define ‘happy’? When Azeroth has been in such disarray that never seems to truly be resolved?

   “I think so. Sometimes,” I eventually say. Then a sense of lightness settles into my stomach. “No, mostly,” I conclude. The smile she flashes is even better than a big, tight hug.

   “Good. Good,” she says. My gaze falls. There’s no ‘without me?’ or any hesitation. Just that smile. Silence descends on us like a warm comforter. The desire to speak is no longer present, but it doesn't need to be. Despite our position on the cold stone floor and the multitude of things I could prod her about, I might as well be lying on a plush chaise longue without a care in the world.

   "Jaina..." she breathes, soft voice pulling me out of my trance. "I—I wanted to apologize for how it treated you," she says. My stomach stings and I can almost hear the last traces of my daydream shatter. Instead, my thoughts spiral back to those very events. I press my eyes shut, trying to keep the images out of my mind—and succeeding. But my heart-rate has about doubled during that time.

   "In the Forge of Souls," she adds. I nod, swallowing a bundle of needles. She slumps with a sigh, hesitating before speaking again.

   "I'm sorry. Really. I only wish I could've done anything to stop it," she whispers. I shake my head slightly.

   "You don't have to apologize for what the Lich did," I say. She shakes her head right back at me.

   "No, I do. It won't apologize for itself, and it used me to hurt you." She hesitates again, chin scrunching up. "I'm—I'm so sorry," she repeats. I exhale deeply.

   "Thank you," I whisper. Tears sting my eyes, even without images flashing through my mind. But the pearls of moisture in my eyes contain the tension in my stomach. As I subtly wipe them away with my sleeve, the tension leaves my body, as if a massive weight had been lifted off of my shoulders.

   "I thought I'd lost you," I whisper. Her lower lip quivers. "That there was nothing left of you anymore." She glances at me but can't manage to keep eye contact.

   "I'm here now," she says, instead pressing the palm of her hand against the light barrier. I stare at it for a few seconds. Then I snap my fingers, dismissing the barrier. She reaches through the bars and I intertwine my fingers with hers. Shivers run up my arm from her touch. A quiet giggle rumbles in my chest as she shivers right back.

   "You're so warm," she breathes, smile slowly creeping back onto her face—as it does to mine, though tears still sting my eyes.

   "Used to be the other way around," I say. She meets my gaze, regarding me as if I was more precious than a star. I close my eyes—I could stay like this for hours on end. Feeling her cold grasp in mine, stroking her pale hand with my golden brown thumb. She squeezes my hand and I gaze upon her again.

   "Jaina, I know this is a lot to ask, but... do you think I could get out of here? Just for a little while?" she asks. I furrow my brows.

   "Out of here? Whereto?"

   "Oh, out of my cell. That's all," she says, waving her free hand dismissively.

   "Oh," I breathe.

   "I spend every waking moment keeping that thing at bay, and, honestly, staying cooped up in here just... isn't helping," she explains. I press my lips together, examining the feelings tumbling around in my gut. There isn't much space for them, what with the metaphorical belt around my stomach, but my legs answer in my stead. I sit up straight, let go of her hand, and gaze at her with a warm smirk.

   "I could make us some tea. Then maybe we can even drink it outside. Maybe. I'll think about that one. But we can always just stay down here, safe and sound," I say. She quietly exhales, smile widening as she breathes.

   "That sounds just perfect," she says. I tilt my head at her, brows furrowed.

   "Does it even make sense for you to drink tea?" I ask. Her smile turns crooked.

   "I've no idea, but that won't stop me from having tea with you," she says, winking at me. Or was it merely a blink? Either way, I rise and procure the keys once again. At least I only need one this time. I stick the key in the cell door, watching her every move the entire time. She gets up as well, smoother than usual. She tenses slightly when the door unlocks, but I can't even see her eyes flash. It's with a fuzzy stomach and a sheepish smile that I swing the door open and step back, trying to keep my face hidden from her while I get my expression under control. She saunters out of her cell, stretching her arms above her head with a satisfied groan. Her shirt rides up, giving me a peek of her soft, ghostly pale abs.

   "While you make tea, I think I'm going to dance on that table, there. Just because I can," she muses. I giggle, feeling my face flush. I'm about to head for the door when I change direction towards her. A sting of doubt rummages around in my stomach, making my knees feel gelatinous. The voice on one shoulder tells me not to, that it's not the time, not yet, and that it might not be ever again. But the voice on my other shoulder understands the magnetic desire deep in my gut and tells me that this might be one of the only chances I’ll get to act on it. Doubt and tension ebb away as I come up with a third option. Her smile falters slightly and she tenses up as I close in on her, leaving us mere inches apart.

   "Stop me if you don't want this," I whisper. I stand on my tippy toes and put my palms on her cold cheeks. I angle her head down ever so slightly as I struggle to reach her lips with mine. Her breath stalls and her body stiffens when they finally meet. Electricity tingles from our touch, through my neck, my stomach, and into my toes and fingers. Finally, she closes her eyes and puts her hands on my soft waist. I smile against her lips. We readjust to kiss each other deeper. As far as I can tell, she doesn't taste like anything. Alongside the cold, there's an unfamiliar scent to her now that I can't place. It's not an uncomfortable one, but it's not wholly pleasant either. We slowly part, breaths mingling. Her eyes slide back open. If she could, I reckon she'd be blushing even harder than I am. She's certainly panting harder. I support myself on her shoulders to give her a peck on the cheek.

   "Stay here. I'll go make us some tea," I whisper. "Milk and sugar?"

 

*

 

As soon as my feet materialize and I feel the ground through my soles, acid burns in my nostrils like sandpaper. Stifling a cough, I look around like a frightened animal. My heart sinks and my lower lip quivers. Several enormous abominations litter the ground, extra limbs scattered around the plaza. Bands of adventurers sometimes try to infiltrate a capital city, everyone knows that. But this is too much of a coincidence.

   Heart in my throat and still hyperventilating, I once again take off running deeper into the ruins. The stench only amplifies as I close in on the abominations and pass them by as quickly as possible. With a sleeve in front of my face, I try to speed up despite the burning sensation in my lungs and legs. As I turn a corner, I gasp as I'm faced with something huge. I let out a rough exhalation as I process what it is. It's no live thing, but merely an enormous bell. Lordaeron’s coat of arms still adorns its surface. Hand shaking with my heartbeat, I reach out to touch its surface. Just how long has this been here like this? Has it never been fixed since...

   Just before my fingers touch it, I press my eyes shut and shake my head. I set off again and jog further into the ruins. My advance is slowed almost immediately. Instead I march through a short approach. The ground is littered with old, downtrodden rose petals. They perfectly match the stench of decay. But it's what lies beyond that gives me pause.

   Shivers race down my spine when I step inside the throne room. Pale light splashes onto the marble floor from the skylight above. It's so much darker than I remember it. And yet merely standing here sends memories flying through my mind—of listening in on adult debates that I could barely understand, while she feigned sleeping on my shoulder to make me laugh. Being dragged to the throne to take a seat, despite it feeling like I was doing something very, very illegal. Hiding behind the very same throne, always being found, and then fleeing to try to avoid being 'it'. It never worked.

   I ghost towards the throne. A thick layer of dust coats the armrests and even the pillow on the seat. Fingerprints adorn the dusty surface of both armrests—fresh fingerprints. Swallowing hard, I back away from the throne once more.

   Two entrances lead away from the throne room. I'm about to question which one to take, but my memory comes to my rescue—they both end in the very same room. I head left, sticking to my marching pace instead of jogging. A jog will only be halted prematurely anyway, it seems.

   Rounding the corner, I stop dead in my tracks. Behind the throne room lies a mausoleum that I've never seen before. She sits before its grave, crouched down with her hand resting on top of it. I creep towards her, one step at a time. The mausoleum is unnaturally cold and reeks of death. Abominations and guards lie stuffed in every exit that leads deeper into the Undercity. Thankfully, there doesn't seem to be a scratch on her.

   "Arthas?" I whisper. She twists around, gaze snapping to mine. Her eyes are faintly glowing. But they're also red and irritated, and the skin below them is puffy. With a shaky breath, she turns back toward the grave. In that moment, I hear shuffling in one of the hallways. The grim face of an undead guard peeks around the corner. Magic crackles between my fingers. My hand snaps towards them, firing an ice spike directly at their head. They move back around the corner just in time—the ice embeds itself into the wall behind them, and I hear them scurry into the city below. I take a step towards them, almost giving chase, before I simply grit my teeth and throw my hands up above me. Walls of ice coat every exit and entrance, granting us a bit of privacy. I swallow hard. My stomach is nothing but a bundle of needles.

   Arthas draws a sharp breath that makes me jump in place.

   "You know..." she begins, voice shrill and dry, then hesitates to wet her lips. "My father made his mistakes. Plenty of them, really. Much like I did. We were both, just... too stubborn for our own good. Convinced that our way was the right way." She chuckles hollowly, the sound almost more reminiscent of suppressed crying. "But... I don't know if you remember. You were probably too young to notice at the time. But—but I remember, very clearly. I told him very early on, I—I was very young when I first told him that... I wasn't a prince, I was a princess." I can hear her smile. "And he'd always humour me. Even when I grew older and I still insisted. It who what I really was, even if others didn’t understand. And he just..." She shakes her head slightly. "He just accepted it. No fuss, no struggle. He could tell that anything else was just hurting me. And I—I still remember. When he announced it to the people. That I was a princess, 'unlike what House Menethil had previously assumed'." Her voice is breaking. "I felt like my father was the best father in the world. He was always good to me. No matter what. He didn't deserve this." She hesitates for a few seconds. "None of them did," she whispers.

   I step closer to her, kneel down behind her, and wrap my arms around her waist. She tenses in my grasp before slowly easing up with a quivering sigh. I stay wrapped around her like this, tears stinging my eyes and my stomach. I feel and listen to her slow breathing, but keep an ear on the commotion outside as well. Muffled shouting penetrates all the walled-up entrances to the Undercity, and it sounds like the denizens have begun picking at one entrance’s ice wall with some sort of tool. I give her a squeeze. In that moment, an ice cube drops into my stomach and my eyes open. I really can't feel nor hear her heartbeat.

   "Let me know when you're ready to go, Arthas. I know it's hard to leave. I know. But we can’t stay," I say, voice as gentle as humanly possible. At that, she rises from her kneeling position. She almost drags me up with her, and I have to clumsily let go and get back on my own two feet. But her hand still rests on her father's grave. Only after a few long seconds that feel like minutes does she let it slide off.

   "Ready?" I ask. She swallows hard with a slow blink. In this situation that's almost as good as a 'yes'. I pick my staff back up from where I left it and take her hand in mine, intertwining our fingers. The undead have begun hacking at all the walls now. A few ice chunks come off in one of the corners while I teleport us away from here. We dematerialize, floating through a sea of nothingness, before our feet touch down on tall grass.

   The lawn surrounding the Argent Dawn facility is utterly overgrown, but idyllic nonetheless. I give her hand a squeeze, tension in my stomach evaporating with a sigh. She doesn't flinch and merely stares off into the distance. Following her gaze, the tension is forced right back down my throat and into my stomach. A large group of soldiers in the middle of saddling up have spotted us. Tirion is the first to dismount. He barks orders at his troops and seconds later they're all striding towards us, leaving a single person to tend to the confused horses.

   "Step away from her, Jaina," he shouts. I tense up, clutching both hands around the shaft of my staff.

   "What?" I whimper.

   "Step away from her!" he repeats, harsher this time. I press my lips together and dig my heels in, almost literally.

   "No!" I shout back. "She's—" The words get stuck in my throat while the Argent soldiers scurry past me. I look back with a shiver. Arthas has stepped away from _me_. And now the soldiers have her surrounded, pinned into one spot with their weapons. She makes no move to escape or defy them, instead staring directly at Tirion.

   "So, where had she run off to?" he asks, standing beside me with his arms crossed. I swallow hard. I can't say she'd gone into the forest, they'll have searched there. Any other capital city would seem senseless—though that didn't stop me from searching Stormwind. Perhaps the Western Plaguelands could work. That's where Uther's grave is, after all.

   "I returned to Lordaeron," Arthas says. My heart skips a beat. Tirion's face twists into a vicious, tight-lipped smile.

   "Oh. Yes, I see. Of course. So, what, you just had to return to the land you singlehandedly annihilated to spit on its memory one last time? How very mature," he snarls. My stomach stings and I look back at Arthas—her hands are balled into fists.

   "It wasn't—" I cut in, but Tirion continues.

   "And what of the Undercity? Does Sylvanas know?" I close my eyes for a moment, drawing a deep, but shaky breath.

   "Yes, I reckon she does," I say. Tirion scoffs.

   "Oh, good. So one of the most powerful people in Azeroth, one of the people who hates _you_ ," he jabs a finger at Arthas, "the very most, knows about you. And if the Banshee Queen knows, who else does? Who else is she going to—"

   "She's no Queen, it doesn't belong to her," Arthas growls, grimace having deepened with his every word. Tirion and I both frown at her.

   "So that's what this is about? Some misplaced sense of entitlement?" Arthas closes her eyes, features twitching. "It doesn't belong to you either, brat. You made very sure that it was never going to. And now you've gone and jeopardized _everything_ —your entire existence—for what? Nostalgia?" Tirion rants, gesturing with his hands as though they were weapons.

   "It was my home!" she shouts. My breath stalls—the eerie blue glow has returned to her eyes, and the temperature around us has dropped just a degree or two while they've been shouting at each other.

   "It isn't anymore! And you need to get that through your thick skull before you cause any more trouble," he says. I step in front of him, putting myself between the two, despite the many feet of distance that already separates them.

   "Lay off of her for now. We'll talk about all this later, but right now, this is just too dangerous," I say, voice hushed. He scowls at me.

   "Fine," he says, then turns his attention towards Arthas anew. "But you're staying in your cell from now on. No more fun little excursions without oversight. If I had the final say in the matter, you'd be gathering dust in that cell until the end of time." Arthas clutches her head with a sharp inhalation and presses her eyes shut. I step towards her, closing in on the circle of soldiers that surrounds her.

   "Herd her inside, men. We don't need any more daring escapes," Tirion commands. I gaze at her intently, almost willing her to open her eyes.

   "Arthas, try to stay calm. I'm here with you—" I get to say no more before Tirion shouts again.

   "Now! No more dilly-dallying." One of the soldiers behind her take initiative. They prod her with the tip of their sword. It's not an outright jab, but more of a gentle push, as if she was an ornery bull that they don't want to upset. Her frown deepens, but she remains perfectly still—besides her trembling fists. Another soldier ups the ante. They take a proper stab at her. I can hear her under-armour tear. She gasps and her eyes snap open. Shivers shoot down my spine—her eyes are glowing as if they were still peering out of that helmet. She spins around, reaches over their sword, and seizes the stabbing soldier by the wrist.

   "Don't you dare touch me," she snarls. Her voice is an uncomfortable medium between her own and its. My stomach coils at the sounds of wrist- and hand-bones snapping. The soldier wails and almost sinks to their knees in her grasp. Another soldier steps forward and slashes her with their saber, finally penetrating her under-armour. Her gaze snaps up to meet theirs. At first, they try to deflect her incoming fist. They quickly abandon that idea. It's too late to run by then, and she grabs them by the elbow. She flings them over her shoulder as if they weighed nothing and they crash into a row of other soldiers, knocking them over.

   The lawn erupts into a mess of arrows and magic, steel and frost. I cushion the falling soldiers with a blast of gentle snowflakes and throw up a wall of ice just in time to catch arrows aimed for her head. I chill a fireball, leaving in its wake nothing but a lump of sleet that splatters against her thigh. Arthas pushes and knocks soldiers away from her. Despite the injuries she causes, she delivers no outright deathblows. When the coast is as clear as it can be, she locks eyes with Tirion and strides towards him. She picks up a sword on the way and my stomach sinks. The numerous abominations and guards in the ruins—she killed them all without any weapon. And now she's armed herself and is marching towards the only person besides me who's keeping this entire operation afloat.

   Shaking his head, Tirion draws Ashbringer from his back. Heart in my throat, I dash between the two of them. There are still a few feet between Arthas and me.

   "Get out of the way, Jaina," Tirion urges. But I'm busy glaring at Arthas whose advance doesn't halt.

   "Arthas, stop it! I know you're in there, right below the surface, and I know you can hear me, so stop this nonsense right now before anyone else gets hurt!" I demand. Her eyes narrow, she clenches her jaw, and she stops breathing. And she's still coming towards me.

   "I mean it! Stop! I don't want to have to hurt you!" I say. Behind me, Tirion says something just as Arthas reaches out towards my shoulder—to push me aside. But I'm not listening to him. I’m not listening to anyone or anything.

   "Arthas, stop it, you asshole!" I scream into her face. It feels like it's been decades since I last screamed so hard my throat hurt. I whack her square across the face with my staff. A crack runs through the crystal on the tip. Arthas groans and loses balance. She's stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide. Then she drops the sword, clutches her head, and sinks to the ground. The oppressive atmosphere subsides as her breathing evens out. I reach down towards her, though my heavy heartbeats make my hand shake.

   "Can you stand?" I ask. After a few seconds, Arthas grabs on to my hand. Putting all of my weight into it, I help pull her to her feet. She's still trembling, but the glow in her eyes is waning by the second.

   "I'll escort her inside," I say, glaring at Tirion who glares right back.

 

*

 

I push the door open as best I can, hands occupied with the two teacups I'm holding. I slide into the dungeon room, dismiss the barrier in front of the cell bars, and slide one of the cups in-between them.

   "Here. I know you wanted to try the berry blend," I say, keeping my tone soft and gentle. She's sitting in the very corner of her cell, on top of her ragged bed. Her legs are tucked up in front of her, white hair obscuring her face. She seems to glance in my direction, but she doesn't meet my gaze—there's a slight glow to her eyes that’s visible even from here.

   "Thanks," she mutters. I take a seat on the floor and place my tea cup in my lap. It's not lukewarm, but not scalding hot either; the perfect drinking temperature. I take a sip that could use some sugar, but the sweet, fresh berry tea in itself makes up for it.

   "Come down here and drink this with me. It's a little weird to just sit here and do it alone," I say. When she doesn’t move an inch, I clear my throat.

   "I always prefer to drink tea with company, you know," I add. She scoffs, finally glancing at me.

   "No, you don't," she says. The corners of my mouth pull into a smile, despite my best efforts to stay stoic.

   "No, I don't. But it's different with you," I say. My stomach sinks as Arthas presses her eyes shut and buries her face in her knees. Said eyes look wet. I take another long sip of tea. After a dozen seconds that each feel like hours, she slowly unravels her foetal position, gets up, and sits down on the floor in front of me and her teacup. Her movements have gotten better since she first returned to us, but there’s still something mechanical and pained to them. She stares into the clear liquid instead of looking at me. When she finally touches it, she retracts her hand with a sharp inhalation.

   "Oh, sorry," I blurt out, grimacing. "I'll cool it for you." I reach into the cell and touch the teacup with my finger—it still seems a decent temperature to me. I leave a trail of quickly evaporating ice on the outside of the cup.

   "There," I mutter. With jerky movements, she reaches for the cup once again. Her features soften as she picks it up with no trouble and rests it in her lap, as I do mine.

   "Thank you," she says, voice low and brittle. We sit in silence for a while, drinking our tea. She's reluctant to look me in the eyes, gaze faltering with a weak smile whenever she does. Usually a long spell of silence would make me feel like I have a stomach ulcer on the verge of bursting, but I’m at ease in front of her. I might as well be sitting on a fancy satin pillow, wrapped in a silk robe with a cleansing face mask on.

   "Do you like it?" I ask. Arthas nods and hums in agreement. I beam at her, taking another sip. She swallows hard.

   "I should never have made it off the Citadel," she whispers. My breath stalls and the tea nearly gets stuck in my throat. I stare at her wide-eyed for a few seconds.

   "No. Don’t say that. I'm glad you did," I say. She shakes her head with a tiny wrinkle on her nose.

   "It should've all ended there." Chills slithering down my spine, I force a deep breath down my throat.

   "I know this isn't ideal, but we can work with it. We can work something out," I say, leaning forwards and wrapping my fingers around one of the bars.

   "I'm a monster, Jaina. That isn't ever going to change, now. If this is what my head is going to feel like forever..." her sentence trails off. Her voice is on the brink of breaking.

   "You're already doing so much better now than you were when you first woke up here—" She interrupts me with an icy glare.

   "I'm not. You can't see it, but I'm not. There's a war going on in my head, and it—it makes me dangerous. To be around, to—my very existence is a danger," she says. I reach in beyond the bars, gesturing for her to take my hand. She doesn't. For a moment, the urge to grab on to her regardless is almost overpowering, but I know I wouldn't appreciate that if it were me. Especially not when I'm already sensitive. Instead, I grip my teacup with both hands like my life depended on it.

   "That thing you carry around with you might be a monster, Arthas. But you're just you now, as well. No matter the mistakes you make, you aren't like the Lich. If you can just keep the two of you separate, I reckon you'll do just fine," I say. She runs her palm across her face.

   "It's so much work. Always keeping it under control," she says. I smile at her.

   "I can only imagine. But you're still doing it, even if it's hard. And you'll only get better with experience. So hopefully I won't have to hit you over the head again," I say. She lets out a humourless chuckle.

   "Yeah, well. Could take a while. I was never particularly good at managing myself." Now it's my turn to chuckle.

   "No, you weren't. But you're trying, now. I can tell, even if you can't," I say. She looks up at me, features softening.

   "You're much too good to me," she whispers. A core of fuzzy warmth spawns in my stomach.

   "Someone has to be," I say. She sighs deeply.

   "I'm sorry I keep putting all this on you. It—it isn't your responsibility to take care of me like this," she says. The fuzz is extinguished and my features fall into a frown. I fiddle with the hem of my sleeve and take a final sip of my tea, avoiding the residue at the bottom of the cup.

   "I can't stay here and dote on you forever. We both know that. But I realize the impact I have on you right now. And, for now, while you're struggling like this, I don't mind being here for you in that capacity," I say, tilting my head at her. She stares at me, blinking a few times. An exhalation rocks through her body.

   "Well. I guess I should've just asked instead of worrying about it. You've already thought of everything," she mutters. I shrug with just one shoulder.

   "I hadn’t really, until you asked. It just seemed natural for me to do," I say. A shadow of a smile flitters across her face.

   "I see. Thank you," she says. I nod at her, and she takes a long sip of tea. For a few moments, she stares into the rosy liquid in the porcelain cup. Said material is slightly more yellow than her, but just as pale.

   "I was hoping to eventually just... be able to help, you know?" she says, furrowing her brows at the tea. "Get out of here and do something with myself." Setting my cup aside, I awkwardly rest my chin on the palm of my hand.

   "Like what?" I ask. She pouts.

   "Well, you know... Help. I could be a protector of some sort. I don't know. Something like that. Something that could make up for some of the shit I've done. I've been trying to equate how many lives I could save, how many people I could help, to make up for—for Stratholme. For everything that came after. But it feels like an impossible math equation to figure out—and, well, I’m not really made for that kind of mathematics in the first place," she rants, rubbing her temples. I can't help but chuckle despite myself.

   "That's mathematics with morals. Math doesn't have morals, so that’s an extremely difficult equation. I doubt even I could figure that one out," I say. Finally, she giggles back—genuinely this time. It's like the sweetest tune to my ears.

   "I suppose you're right. Nevertheless, my point stands, mathematically sound or not. I need to be able to help somehow. If I'm alive forever, I might even be able to make some headway towards actually, you know... rebuilding something. Somehow," she rambles. "But, I don't know how possible that is, now." I nod, but can't help a sigh as well.

   "Well, it's not going to be any easier now that Sylvanas knows about you. But we'd have to have kept a low profile anyway, to keep your existence a secret. Well, we still have to do that," I say, raising my brows momentarily. She clenches her jaw, brushing stray strands of hair out of her face. "But I reckon that as long as you can keep that thing under control, we can figure something out. And you _will_ get better at it in time. Just like I did with my magic," I say, crossing my arms with a smirk.

   "As long as I don't have to spend eternity in a cell," she mutters. I lean towards her.

   "I would never let that happen," I state. A genuine smile spreads across her face—much like the sun finally peeking out from behind a week-long blanket of grey clouds.

   "Thank you," she whispers. "I'll try my best. Give it everything I've got."

   "Good," I say. I place my face between the bars and tap my lips with my index finger. Her smile turns just a bit crooked, and she leans in towards me. Our lips meet, and this time I don't jump in place. Her lips are as cold as ever, only tempered slightly by the lingering heat from the tea. I close my eyes, drawing in her new scent, the feel of her chilly skin. We part and I gaze into her eyes, lingering blue glow nowhere to be seen.

   "We'll make this work somehow, Arthas. I promise you that."

 

*

 

I pull the night gown over my head, almost getting lost in the satin prison in the process. Sitting myself down by the vanity, I grab my brush and get to work. How I always manage to end up with so many tangles even on a windless day is beyond me. It's like my hair wills itself to tangle endlessly. I gaze at my bed through the mirror. It's so big—way too big for just one person. The Argent Dawn's facility is perfectly fine, but it's not what I'm used to. It's not my own bed.

   Staring into my own eyes, I catch something in the mirror. In the shadows by the bed, where the candlelight on the vanity doesn't reach, there's a hint of movement. Something reflects off of the gleam of the flame. I drop my brush, whip around, and jump to my feet. Frost whirls in my palms and I glare at the darkness. It glares back. The shadows slowly takes shape as it steps forth into the light. I recognize her even before I get a glimpse of her face. That stature and the armour—there’s no mistaking it. When I finally lay eyes her cerulean face, her expression is unreadable.

   I swallow hard, though the motion hurts against the tension in my stomach.

   "How long have you been standing there, preparing to make your dramatic entrance?" I say, glaring at her. A smirk creeps across her face.

   "Not long enough to see anything unsavoury," she says, voice subtly echoing around the room like chiming bells. My stomach jitters like jelly being flicked. I've been undressing and redressing in here with my entire form visible. Even if she did see any of it, she likely wouldn't admit it.

   "What do you want, Sylvanas?" I ask. I clench my jaw, stomach churning at the mere thought of her response. She narrows her red eyes, scanning my face before she answers.

   "I understand that the Argent Dawn's account of what happened at Icecrown Citadel isn't exactly truthful," she says. She doesn't even have to change her tone of voice to sound intimidating. Stings emanate from my stomach through my entire body. I try to keep my expression under control.

   "Not only that," she continues. "You'd let that horror set foot on our territory— _my_ territory—kill my people, and then simply let it get away with it?" My knees feel like they could give out. I straighten my back and look directly at her.

   "We didn't endorse any of it. I know that that doesn't fix things or bring anyone back, but I can assure you that this was not a calculated incident, and that nothing like it will ever happen again," I say, putting on my best diplomatic tone of voice. She tilts her head at me.

   "So you admit that Arthas Menethil is still alive?" she says. I blink, opening and then closing my mouth again. The frost still lingering in my hands feels like it's going to devour me from the inside. Sylvanas giggles.

   "You really aren’t a good liar, Lady Proudmoore," she purrs. I clench my jaw, willing the ice in my gut to melt and turn into a pyre. I furrow my brows and stare her down.

   "I repeat my question: what do you want? You're trespassing at the moment, and I have no qualms about throwing you out of here," I growl. She cocks a brow at me.

   "Ooh. So tough," she muses.

   "I mean it." She smiles again—a motion so subtle, you wouldn't have noticed it if your gaze wasn't fixed on her.

   "I only wanted confirmation. And I reckon I just got that," she says.

   "And what are you planning to do with that information, exactly?" I ask, wielding each word like a weapon.

   "Now, I don't think it'd be very prudent of me to tell you that," she says. The pyre in my gut roars, while Sylvanas motions towards one of the windows.

   "Not so subtly showing me a part of your hand, aren't you?" I growl. She merely stares at me in response. At the back of my mind, I vaguely register commotion from outside my bedroom door. Heavy footsteps and rustling armour.

   "Let's hope we don't ever have to meet again, Lady Proudmoore," Sylvanas says. She knocks open the window next to her and throws herself out into the night. The second she's gone, Argent guards kick open the door and burst into my room, weapons drawn. I rush towards the window. Shielding my head with a thin ice barrier, I peek over the edge of the windowsill. The world outside is draped in the gloom of a cloudy night—and she's nowhere to be seen.

   "Uh," one of the guards say, shuffling her feet. "Lady Proudmoore, are you—is—is everything alright?" she asks. They're all scrutinizing the room in front of them. I jab a finger at them.

   "Secure the premises. If she’s gotten into my private quarters, who knows what else they've gotten access to," I say. They stare at me, nodding wildly. "Where else have they been seen?" I ask. The guard who addressed me hesitates.

   "Nowhere. Who are we looking for, exactly?" she asks. Now it's my turn to hesitate. I furrow my brow and shake my head slightly.

   "The Forsaken, of course!" I exclaim. Their eyes widen. The commander turns around and barks orders at her troops. Meanwhile, I sink onto the foot of my bed, staring at the floor. The pyre is ebbing out and, in its absence, my knees are beginning to shake. I barely register what she’s saying.

   "Then alert the rest of the facility and fan out! I want patrols doubled, stat, and we need our riders in the air," she concludes. As the guards scurry out of my room and disappear in every direction, she turns back towards me. I will myself to look up at her, but my gaze only makes it as far as her chest.

   "My lady, you have my deepest apologies that we let someone get to you like this. I can assure you, it will never happen again. Are you alright? You're not injured or anything, are you?" she asks, looking me over. My head feels like it's actively spinning and stuffed full of cotton.

   "What were you doing bursting into my room like that if you had no idea anyone was even here?" I ask. She presses her lips together.

   "Our prisoner _insisted_ that we checked up on you. She was... worried, to put it mildly," she explains. Through the fog, the puzzle piece clicks into place in my head. I rise once again, floating through my room as if in a trance.

   "Lady Proudmoore, you should probably get some rest," the guard calls after me. I make a vague dismissive gesture with my hand. Still wearing nothing but my nightgown, I float through the castle, into the dungeons, past leagues of guards, and into Arthas' cell-room. She throws herself at the cell bars like a raging animal and glares in my direction. When our eyes meet, hers widen.

   "Jaina!" she exclaims. Her voice is tinged with the Lich, but I still hear her loud and clear. "Are you alright?" She gives me the telescope look, her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and she presses herself further up against the bars. "If she as much as touched you—if she hurt a single hair on your head—" I hold my palms up in front of me and she stops ranting immediately.

   "I'm fine, Arthas. I'm perfectly fine," I breathe. My mind searches for my next sentence at a snail's pace—a snail with a concussion. Gaze wandering around the room, it settles on a rickety chair by the table, and my body follows suit. I plop down onto it like a ragdoll.

   "But a bit weary," I add with a sigh that nearly empties my lungs. She stares at me, brows pressed together, eyes bulging. "How—how did you know?" I ask, gaze stuck somewhere around her feet. She scoffs.

   "I'd know her stench anywhere. I knew she was close to you, I just knew, I could tell. I couldn't just sit here and do nothing. No way. Never," she says, words pouring out of her mouth, grip on the bars tightening. I finally regard her face again. She's rigid like a statue, but there's a fire raging behind her cold stare.

   "Thank you," I say, voice weaker and more monotonous than I intended. Her features soften, a wrinkle once again forming between her brows.

   "Are you sure you're alright? I—you seem shaken. If you need to—I don't know, talk? Then I'm here. Right here," she says, letting the sentence trail off. For a few moments, I merely breathe. Each breath is as steady and as deep as I can manage. A modicum of fog lifts from my mind.

   "I don't think she was actually planning to hurt me," I say, frowning. "She was... I don't know. Doing something else." She nods, staring at me. I slide my fingers through my wavy, newly brushed hair and drag my other hand down my face.

   "Do you mind if I sleep in here tonight?" I ask. A smile so gentle, it can only be described as uncharacteristic, spreads across her face.

   "Of course not," she says, voice mirroring her expression. Any sign of the Lich in her tone is gone. I nod once. Then I nod again. Then I stand up, hand on the table to support my wobbly knees, and meander out of the room. The guards on duty all stare at me.

   "Can I have a mattress of some sort and some blankets and pillows in here?" I ask. They nod and several of them scramble up the stairs at my request. I slink back inside and, as slowly as I can manage, sit myself back down next to her cell. She sits down next to me on the other side and I dismiss the barrier with a soundless snap of my fingers. I slide my hand through the bars and she immediately seizes it, giving it a gentle squeeze.

   "Oh. Your heart's pounding," she says, smile crinkling the skin around her eyes.

   "I know," I whine. Her thumb brushes across the back of my hand rhythmically. It almost soothes my panicked heart.

   "Thank you," I whisper. Her face falls. She gives my hand a squeeze, lifts it, and places a kiss like a ring on my finger.

   "You know I won't let anything happen to you, right? Not if I can help it," she says.

   "I know." She brushes a stray strand of hair away from my face with her free hand. Then she inhales sharply.

   "But I'm warning you: I snore," she says, lips pulling into a crooked smile. I furrow my brows.

   "I thought you didn't sleep?" Her smile twists and turns sheepish.

   "Yes, that's—that's the joke, sweet thing," she says. I blink at her. Waving a hand next to my head, I sigh deeply.

   "Sorry, it's—I'm all—" I say, stumbling over my own words. She pats my hand.

   "Too soon for jokes. Got it," she says. Letting my eyes slide shut, I finally return her smile.

   "Give it a few minutes," I mutter.

 

*

 

The lieutenant pats my arm once more.

   "Lady Proudmoore, I reckon this is your last chance to turn back," he says, voice lowered. Taking a deep breath, I level a smile at him.

   "It's fine, I assure you. I'm here because I want to be," I say. He clears his throat and shuffles his feet.

   "Well, Lady Proudmoore, perhaps it'd be good for—for her to be on her own. Without you, I mean," he says, nearly stumbling over his own words. I glance at Arthas for just a moment, but it's enough time to catch her stoic expression falter a notch. Were it anyone but her, I'd never have noticed the change.

   "That may be, but today I'll stay by her side. I think she prefers that," I say. Our gazes meet. The corners of her mouth play with the idea of smiling.

   "In fact, I know she does," I add, voice hushed. At that, her crooked smile finally makes its grand appearance.

   "I won't ever pass up the chance to have a beautiful woman by my side," she purrs. "Especially not my best girl." She finishes her flattery with a hand on her hip and a wink in my direction. I can't help but giggle and shake my head while the soldiers all groan. The cacophony of exasperation manages to spread a warm, familiar sensation through my torso. It's like hearing Terenas and Caila's moans all over again.

   "Get a room," another soldier grumbles. Arthas scoffs.

   "We already have one. We just aren't using it right now," she quips. "It'd be silly to retreat in the middle of a grand quest just to flirt, wouldn't it?" They groan louder. As soon as they have, we all fall quiet as her expression sobers—her smile disappears, her eyes grow steely, and her back straightens. She stares into the dim woods, perusing it with her gaze. We all look in the same direction. I for one catch nothing but the swaying leaves and a buzzing bug here or there. She points into the dark.

   "It's this way," she says, marching through the undergrowth with ease. We stumble to keep up with her.

   “What’s this way?” I ask. She glances at me momentarily, then continues to stare straight ahead, towards her target.

   “One of the people we’re looking for,” she mutters. The lieutenant trots up beside her.

   “Someone you know?” he asks, a hint of sharpness to his tone. Her lips twitch into a tiny grin.

   “Well, I don’t know them personally. We don’t all know each other.” The lieutenant clenches his jaw and stares down at the fallen leaves. “But I do know that they’re on the move.” At that, a hush washes over our little squad. We follow in her footsteps with our breaths in our throats, prowling through the forest like a band of ghosts. Her steps are remarkably quiet, even on top of the crunchy russet leaves. It feels as though I have to lift my knees up to my chin to avoid branches and wood stumps and my breathing quickly grows laboured. Nobody speaks a word. Our ears are too busy being on stalks. The slightest rustle from our surroundings—a branch snapping, a bird chirping—has everyone but Arthas whip our heads in its direction. It doesn't exactly help soothe my hammering heart. How Arthas manages to stay swaggering despite our situation and her lack of weapons is beyond me. If her feet hurt anywhere near as much as mine do after these couple of miles of obstructed walking, it's a miracle she can stay this nonchalant.

   She stops dead in her tracks and my gaze snaps ahead to follow hers. A little clearing lies ahead. It houses a large tent-like structure made from what looks like enormous bones. The smell of embers, ash, and sizzling meat wafts through the air, revealing a campfire somewhere that we can’t yet see. Next to the tent entrance, a Horde flag billows gently in the breeze. Every single one of us tenses when a tall orc saunters out of the tent with a pile of wood in their arms. The lieutenant holds his arms out in front of us and sits down below the bushes. We follow him down.

   “What the fuck?” Arthas whispers, so low that likely only the lieutenant and I can hear it.

   “Is this what you sensed?” the lieutenant whispers back, eyes wide. She shakes her head wildly.

   “No!” she hisses. “The person I can feel is beyond this camp. I’ve no connection to—to _orcs_. Why would I?”

   “So what’s a Horde camp doing here?” one of the other soldiers asks.

   “I reckon they know we’re here,” I interject.

   “But we’re not with the Alliance.” I press my lips together.

   “I’m sure they know that, but at the same time it makes sense to keep an eye on whatever we’re up to, right?” I say. The lieutenant nods.

   “Especially now that our conquest in Northrend is over. I’m guessing they want to know what our agenda is,” he says. Arthas shifts and clears her throat.

   “What?” he says, glaring at her.

   “I could ask them,” she mutters. My lips part. We all stare at her. She glances around at us in return. If she could blush, she likely would have.

   “What?” I ask, voice a few octaves lighter than usual.

   "Well, you know. I'm basically undead. I'm guessing I wouldn't stand out that much," she says. Her voice wavers ever so slightly and my chest quivers alongside it.

   "You can't be serious," the lieutenant breathes.

   "That could work, in theory," I say. They all stare at me, Arthas with a glimmer in her eye. "You look the part, if less skeleton-like than most."

   "I've seen undead who looked pretty fresh," the talkative soldier interjects. Arthas' grin slowly grows to match her gaze.

   "You'd _really_ need to do some convincing. If they've been briefed—" I say, but the lieutenant waves his arms around as if he was surrounded by raging wasps.

   "Which is exactly why you're doing no such thing! We'll approach this as a squad, just like we're supposed to," he says, glaring at her.

   "We could avoid fighting altogether if I can convince them," she says, clenching her fists with vigour. "We could return with a much greater fighting force than they could hope to deal with _and_ get insider information from them if I can just talk to them." A tingling feeling surges through my gut. I can't stop myself from grinning at her. He catches sight of it and rolls his eyes.

   “ _If_ they realize and just a single one got away, we could have another faction on our hands that knows about you,” he hisses. She smirks.

   “Well, then we just don’t let them get away. As you said, we do this as a squad. Right?” she purrs. The lieutenant looks like he’s on the brink of exploding.

   “If they catch wind of anything, we’ll all be in trouble,” he maintains, though his tone is less steadfast.

   “Tell you what,” Arthas says with a click of her tongue, pointing at him. “If you all place yourselves around the camp, I’ll go in and convince them that I’m ‘one of them’.” She gestures helpfully while explaining. “ _If_ things go south, which I highly doubt they will, then you’ll be able to move in and pick them off. Overwhelm them before they even realize what’s going on,” she explains.

   “I can make us invisible,” I say. She snaps her fingers and points at me.

   “Yes! That makes it so much easier.” The lieutenant looks back and forth between us and finally groans.

   “Fine. But we’re going at this with the intention to gather information about their intent, not have cheap fun at the expense of the rest of us,” he grumbles.

   “I’d never,” she says, but she can’t keep her grin under control. The fuzzy feeling in my stomach hardens and I swallow hard.

   “What about the person you did sense? Are they here, in the camp?” I ask. Her smile fades and she shakes her head.

   “They’re beyond it. But not by much, we’ll catch them even if we deal with this,” she says. I nod.

   “And this _is_ kind of a pressing issue,” I say.

   “Orcs in the woods,” she says, wiggling her fingers and making her tone oscillate as if she’s telling a ghost story. I can’t help but snort. The lieutenant hushes us.

   “Let’s just get this over with instead of messing around,” he mutters. I clear my throat and Arthas nods. Magic flows through my fingers. I close my eyes and exhale through rounded lips. When I open them again, subtle hues of purple and pink are swirling around my fingertips. I angle myself towards the soldiers, almost losing my balance in the process.

   “Are you ready?” I ask. The lieutenant gives them a few quick orders, gesturing to some trees in the area, and then gives me a nod. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I release the magic in my veins. Pink energy shimmers in the air around us as the soldiers and my own hands disappear from my sight. Just before I turn completely transparent, I run my fingertips down Arthas’ arm and intertwine our fingers.

   “Be careful,” I whisper. She leans in close, squeezing my invisible fingers, and her lips end up brushing against my earring. We both giggle quietly.

   “Of course,” she says.

   “I’ll stay close,” I say as I let go of her hand and sneak across the crunchy leaves. She smiles at me and winks with both eyes. Then her expression sobers and takes a few deep breaths with her eyes pressed shut. She rises like surging fire and pushes through the bushes in front of her, striding towards the camp. I stay a few steps behind her, eventually squatting down behind the tree nearest the clearing. As soon as one of the orcs catch sight of her, they draw their sword. The other orcs and trolls follow suit. Arthas plasters on a casual smirk and holds her palms up in front of her.

   “Hail. I am no threat to you,” she says. One of the orcs breaks away from the pack and stalks towards her as she gets closer. I try to count them—from my position I can see five, but I can’t determine whether the tuft of hair that pokes out behind the tent belongs to a living head or not.

   “Sylvanas sent me,” she adds. The orc stops in front of her and frowns, pulling deep wrinkles around their prominent teeth.

   “We didn’t send for support,” they grumble.

   “You don’t look like one of her rangers,” an archer behind them interjects. Arthas’ gaze shifts to them with a genuine smile.

   “I’m not. I’m merely Forsaken. A Death Knight, _kind_ of like Sylvanas herself. I’m sure you’re familiar with our kind,” she says, tilting her head.

   “Yes, thank you, I know what a Death Knight is,” the orc in front of her growls. She nods.

   “Of course.” They look her over, brows furrowed.

   “What’s your name?” they ask. She hesitates for a split second, a silence so short that you might not notice if you aren’t listening for it.

   “Mathilda,” she lies. The orc narrows their eyes.

   “Let me see your orders,” they demand. I almost jump in place when Arthas bursts out laughing. The orcs _do_ jump and stare at her, murmuring amongst themselves.

   “Oh, please! Do you seriously think she’d let me carry around sensitive information? Anything at all that’d link me back to her? Do you know her at all?” she says, voice bouncing with laughter. The orcs roll their eyes as she shakes her head at them.

   “Shut up, corpse,” one of them says and the others chuckle. Arthas quiets down and settles for a dark smirk.

   “So, what, you’re here to ‘help us out’?” they ask, making air quotes. She shrugs, joints perfectly loose.

   “If you need any help, sure. Otherwise I’m just here for a status update,” she says. The orc scoffs.

   “What, The Dark Lady doesn’t trust us to handle things on our own?” they ask. She crosses her arms.

   “Of course she does. But, remember, this borders on our land. I know you operate mostly on Kalimdor, so anything that happens here is far more likely to become troublesome for us than it is for you,” she explains, as if she truly believed it. “At least, it’ll become trouble quicker.” They tilt their head back and forth.

   “’Suppose that’s fair,” they say.

   “Well?” she asks. Before anyone says anything else, I catch her glancing to her left for just a moment. I follow her gaze and see nothing but the trees.

   “Any idea what’s going on inside that facility?” she continues. My gaze snaps back to her face and my stomach stings. If they aren’t here for the Argent Dawn, this plan just went up in flames. I hold my breath as the orc chews on their answer.

   “We aren’t sure,” they say, and I let out a sigh of relief. "There's been a couple of weird rows, but we're not sure what any of them were really about. We've requested a mage so we can get a little closer, but, uh, our best guess is that it's a prison facility," they explain. "We've seen more people go _in_ wrapped in chains than _out_ , let's put it that way. But that's the most solid information we have." As they finish explaining, Arthas furrows her brow and looks behind her. A flame surges in my gut, burning through every tiny little vein. If you’re going to do something this risky, you ought to _at least_ stay focused. Whatever's catching her attention behind us can't possibly be more important. The orc follows her gaze, furrowing their brows.

   "A real prison facility would have more prisoners, no?" Arthas mutters as she turns back to face them anew. Their lips part a few moments before they answer her.

   "Yes... Our thoughts exactly. So we aren't as sure as we'd like to be. That's why we haven't reported much of anything back, see? We won't be doing anything risky that'll harm the Horde. So you can pass that along to your Dark Lady," they say. Arthas grins and shrugs with one shoulder.

   "That's fair," she says. "Is that all?"

   "Yeah," they say, scratching their neck. "We can't figure out anything else without a mage and a more direct approach—" Something whips through the air above my head. My heart skips a beat. Their conversation stops in its tracks. A gasp leaps down my throat and my hands fly up to cover my mouth. An arrow is sticking out of Arthas' side. It's precisely penetrated the gap in her plate mail where her side is covered only by under-armour. Judging by how little arrow stem is left outside her body, it went in deep.

   "What…?" the orc breathes, gaze shifting between the arrow and her face. Their stances have shifted, shields and swords and staffs raised. Arthas turns, eyes glowing, fury painted all over her face.

   "You dare?" she growls into the distance, voice deep and booming. I can still hear her own voice layered underneath it. Another orc in the squad stumbles back with a loud gasp. He's carrying a staff and is dressed in dark robes and shiny jewelry.

   "That's—that's no undead!" he shrieks. All eyes are on him. "That's the Lich! The Lich Queen!" The camp falls deathly silent as Arthas' glare bores into him. Eyes widen and sword grips tighten. She bares her teeth. Raising her hands, she binds their feet with shards of ice. A few of them shriek. I jump out from behind my tree, still invisible. Arthas decks the orc in the face so hard, one of their tusks breaks off. Not being able to move, there isn't much they can do against an onslaught of magic and Argent Dawn blades. I have to close my eyes as I shoot shards of ice towards the helpless warriors. It's all self-defense—it's all defending Arthas. But mowing down sitting ducks has my stomach churning and my knees bubbling. It'll never feel right. Ever.

   When I dare peek at the battlefield again, Arthas is striding towards me—striding past me, glowing eyes scanning the forest. Her hand is pressed against her injured side. Arriving at the spot where she was attempted murdered, she throws her hands out to the side.

   "Come on, then! If you're so determined to kill me, go ahead! I dare you!" she bellows.

   "Arthas!" I hiss, jogging towards her with embers smoldering in my stomach. That's when another arrow whips through the air. It bounces off of her chest plate. The metallic clang makes every muscle in my body twitch. Another arrow shoots towards her—this one she deflects with her bracer, takes a step towards the direction it came from, and reaches out into thin air with her hand. If I didn't know any better, I'd think perhaps she was strangling someone invisible.

   "Too close, my dear," she mutters, voice still marred by that reverb. A distant shriek echoes against the trees. With a smirk, Arthas strides towards its source, hand dropping to cup her side once again. The Argent soldiers leap into action and sprint in the direction she's walking. I set off alongside them, hiking up my feet over the underbrush and bushes. It's a short run that feels like several miles. I stop in my tracks when we reach a young undead elf—I'd guess she's one of Sylvanas’ dark rangers. The branches in the trees above her are broken and her hands are grasping at the grass and fallen leaves. Spit hangs from the corner of her mouth and her breathing is heavy and strained.

   We points our swords and aim our arrows at her and ice swirls in my palm. She glances up at us with a grimace and tears in her eyes.

   "What are you doing here?" the lieutenant barks. She turns to face the ground instead of us. "What is your mission?" he continues. She clutches the grass harder, limbs shaking. A sigh crawls out of my throat.

   "I reckon we already know why," I say. The ranger whimpers and tries to drag herself away, staring firmly over my shoulder. I don't have to turn and look—her heavy footsteps give her away long before I can see her. The ranger picks at a dagger by her side, grimace taking on a hint of determined fury. My fingers prickle and I very nearly fire an icicle at her hand before Arthas simply steps on it. I hadn't thought her expression could turn any more grim, but she somehow manages to wince.

   "She won't tell you a thing," Arthas says, staring down at her with raised brows. The reverb is now a mere hint in her voice. We fall silent for a few seconds, mulling over the situation we're faced with.

   "I—" the ranger begins, before coughing up a dollop of blood. "I'd rather die before telling you shit!" she coughs. Arthas rolls her eyes.

   "Yes, yes, I know," she muses. She glances at the lieutenant. "May I?" she asks. He furrows his brow at her.

   "May you what?"

   "Kill her?" she asks, tilting her head. The dark ranger's breathing stalls for just a moment. I take a step closer.

   "We have interrogators. I'd rather they take a stab at her before—uh, excuse me, no pun intended," I say and my stomach churns at my own words. "Before we do anything more drastic." Arthas twists her mouth.

   "What's the point of that?" she asks. I level a glare at her that makes her nostrils flare.

   "You did not seriously just ask me that," I state. She presses her lips together and stares down at her prey.

   "I agree," the lieutenant says. "I'd rather we at least try to figure out what their game plan is." Arthas heaves a dramatic sigh, takes her foot off the ranger's hand, and pulls the sheathed dagger off of her belt.

   "Fine. But if push comes to shove, I _will_ kill her," she says.

   "Oh, for the love of—" I mutter, rubbing my eyes with my hand.

   "You don't get to decide that, miss," he says, tying the ranger's hands together with a leather string he procured from his pack. She struggles against this, as much as she can, but the effort is for naught. Arthas huffs and clutches her side.

   "All I mean is that I'd rather see her dead before she manages to off one of you," she grumbles while he ties up her feet as well.

   "That's more like it," he says. One of our paladins takes a step towards Arthas—a step so lithe that it barely crunches a single leaf on the ground.

   "We really ought to remove that arrow," she says, every word carefully articulated. "You might be some sort of immortal, but I doubt _anyone_ functions particularly well with an arrow in their side." She chuckles with a shrill voice, wringing her hands. Arthas smiles at her, and her shoulders sink back in place.

   "Yeah. You're right. It stings something awful," she says. "Should I sit myself down somewhere?" There are no hints of the Lich in her voice anymore, and the knots in my stomach ease up. The paladin shakes her head.

   "No, it's alright. I just need access," she says, mumbling her last sentence. At that, Arthas raises her arm with a wince. She steps closer to her like a sceptical cat, hand hovering over the arrow in her side.

   "I promise I won't bleed on you," Arthas purrs, and the paladin lets out another shrill laugh. Light bleeds from her gloved fingers. Furrowing her brows, some of it seeps into wound. I've seen a few healers work their magic up close in my time, and even I've never seen the Light act quite like that. Most of the time it clings to a wound like a child to their mother's leg.

   When she's urged enough healing energy into her side, it envelops her hand, and she parts the holes in Arthas' under-armour to reach inside. Arthas grimaces for just a moment, but otherwise remains perfectly still, settling for pressing her eyes shut. The paladin dares a smile.

   "You don't have to hold your breath, you know. Even if I appreciate the gesture. You just need to stay still," she mutters. Arthas returns her expression, peeking at her.

   "I don't need the breath unless I'm talking," she says. The paladin's smile fades within seconds. Every hair on her neck stands on end—and I can feel mine do the same as shivers race down my spine.

   "Okay," she whispers. The arrowhead comes out featuring only a few specks of unusually dark blood. A hint of nausea churns in my stomach as I consider how long that coagulated blood might have been sitting around in her veins. For a few moments, she simply stares at the arrow in her hands. Then she tucks it under her arm and holds both of her hands up by Arthas' side. Glaring at the wound as if it offended her personally, she pours Light into it. It's like watching an experienced baker work a tough, stubborn dough.

   The lieutenant swings the dark ranger over his shoulder, at which she gasps and whines.

   "Excuse me, madam," he mutters, but makes no move to increase her comfort. Pressing my lips together, I squeeze my staff.

   "We can't stay here," I say. All eyes are on me. I shuffle my feet. "At the facility, I mean." With that, my gaze settles on Arthas. We maintain eye-contact for a few moments before she breaks it. Feeling the freshly healed wound, she stares down at the dead leaves.

 

*

 

A single whiff of the ginger tea makes my stomach settle. But as soon as I'm not smelling it, it starts churning and rumbling again. I'd rather not vomit all over Tirion. It might take a while to live that down.

   "So I'll be returning to the Eastern Kingdoms as soon as I'm able," he says, putting his palm down on the table. I nod along, as if to the beat of a bard.

   "That's fair," I say. He heaves a sigh, twisting his mouth somewhere underneath his beard.

   "Not that I'm particularly comfortable leaving. It'll likely be years before she can fulfil any sort of function here without slaughtering anyone in the process," he grumbles. I press my lips together, brows furrowing.

   "I know you don't want to hear it from me, but I highly doubt it'll take that long," I say and take a careful sip of my tea. "She's already doing much better than when she first—than when we broke the crown." He narrows his eyes at me.

   "But not good enough to be left on her own," he states. I swallow hard, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at him. Instead, I pour him a fresh cup of tea, at which he nods at me. Then I rise and sit myself down by the window, moving a few of the captain's trinkets aside—a miniature helm and sea serpent figurine. Gazing out at the waves billowing behind us, I take another whiff and sip from my cup. This is the time to test if that's better or worse for my nausea than not looking at it. Tirion will be my test bunny if it fails.

   Fog rolls over the foaming ocean, and I can only see a few meters of sea ahead. It rolled in so quickly, you’d think there was an actual sea serpent smoking a pipe out there somewhere.

   Tremors rock the ship. The tea flies out of our cups. For a moment, the captain’s cabin is nearly sideways. A long enough moment to throw me out of the windowsill. The teacup snaps in half when I land on it. The ship keeps swaying, its movements growing less violent every time. Tirion and I share a glance. He’s lying sideways in his chair, tea set smashed against the wall. Then I scamper up off the floor and we both dart out the door, through the dining room, out on deck.

   An enormous hole adorns the side of the ship. Wood and splinters are scattered everywhere. One crewmember lies dead, half their torso missing. My blood runs cold and my heart rate picks up. A shadow looms beyond the fog in the distance. As big as our own ship. The soldiers around me scurry to man the cannons and attempt repairs. I rush across deck and leap down the stairs.

   A million images flash through my mind. A huge cannonball or catapulted stone has to be the culprit. It’ll have penetrated deep. Within minutes, we’ll have sunk. Arthas’ holding cell is in the same side as the hole. Where the stone penetrated. It might have crushed her. If she’s dead, the Lich is without host. The scourge will consume Azeroth. If she’s dead, I’ll never see her again. Once again. She can’t be dead.

   Tears blur my vision as I reach the cargo hold. Upon entry, I stop dead in my tracks. Part of the cargo is crushed. And part of the cell. A few inches of water rest on the floor, soaking the soles of my boots. But a thick layer of ice covers the damaged hull—mending it. No more water pours in.

   “Get yourselves to higher ground,” Arthas says, taking her hand off of the ice. The soldiers scamper onto boxes and benches—I follow their lead and perch myself on a little box, lifting my robes out of the water. She steps onto its surface, freezing the water to stand on it. The ice spreads from her like a growing snowflake, until no water remains liquid. Warmth spreads from my chest to my fingers and toes. A liberating lightness. Just like ice is lighter than water.

   I step down and run towards her. The ice is rough and jagged enough not to slip on. She finally catches sight of me, and her pale face lights up.

   “Jaina!” she breathes. I throw myself at her. She catches me, embracing me so tightly, it almost hurts a little. I close my eyes and nuzzle into her shoulder. She buries her face in my hair. With one last squeeze to my waist, we part and gaze into each other’s eyes. New energy courses through my veins.

   “I told them,” she says, smile fading. “I told them something was coming, but—I—they must’ve already fired.” I give her hand a quick squeeze, telling her ‘it’s okay’ even when my tongue is tied. Then I let go of her and gesture for her to follow. I hear the chains between her hands snap and several soldiers follow us as we bound upstairs. On the way, we patch up more holes with ice. Working together, we can achieve perfectly smooth, light, and yet rock hard repairs.

   We get up on deck just in time to see another rock hurtling towards us through the fog. I reach up towards it. Hold my breath. The air around me vibrates with energy. An enormous arcane shield forms above us. I brace for impact. My muscles are already strained. The rock smashes against it with a thunderous clap. My vision flickers for just a second and my legs wobble. She grabs onto me immediately, steadying me. The boulder comes apart, its pieces plunging into the ocean one by one.

   The fog is thinning enough to let sunlight shine on us from above. The shadow takes shape on the horizon—and it’s a bit too close for comfort. The Forsaken insignia adorns the enemy ship’s dark sails. At this distance, we can even make out the more or less skeletal troops who are loading another stone onto the catapult on its aft.

   “Aim the cannons for that catapult!” Tirion shouts, and the soldiers scramble to follow his orders. “Fire on my command—“

   “No!” I interrupt. “On _my_ command.” Tirion glares at me, mouth open as if he’s ready to give me a verbal lashing. With one nod up at the barrier I’m maintaining, his expression softens and he stares at his soldiers, arms crossed. The second boulder hurtles towards us. The hairs on my neck stand on end. It crashes against the shield. My knees give out. The world goes dark for an instant. I never make it to the floor. She catches me first. I throw my head up to look at my shield. It’s still holding strong. A smile spreads across my face despite my trembling muscles. As soon as the last piece of boulder drops into the sea, I dismiss the barrier with a hand gesture. Tension releases its grip on my body.

   “Fire!” I shout. The cannons go off one by one in quick succession. Cannonballs demolish the catapult and a few of the forsaken manning it. Pieces of wood and bone fly into the waves. Their deck is littered with holes. The ship motions closer. Undead line up against its railing—and they’re armed with bows. Tirion glances at me. I’m still working on standing back up. My body is limp and uncooperative, stomach aching and muscles screaming for mana.

   “Take cover!” he shrieks. The soldiers raise shields, cower behind crates, and run below deck. Arthas picks me up as if I weighed nothing and throws both of us back inside the dining room. Arrows pelt down on deck. I take the opportunity to pull a mana potion from my hip-pack and chug it. It’s sweet, syrupy, and tingles on my tongue. My muscles stop trembling immediately.

   I scoot closer to the door and peek outside. The archers are lining up another round of shots. Tirion is hiding in a doorway just next to us.

   “They’re coming closer,” he grumbles. My eyes widen. I keep my gaze glued to the forsaken ship—it _is_ closing in on us. And quickly. I duck back inside as another wave of arrows rains down. Mere seconds later, tremors rock the ship once again. Arthas and I both look outside. They’ve literally rammed the side of their ship into ours. And undead soldiers are climbing across the railings, armed to the teeth. A pungent scent of soil and a hint of rot mixes with the salt of the foamy sea.

   “Permission to arm myself?” Arthas asks.

   “Granted,” I say. We dash into the captain’s cabin. I pick my staff up off the floor and she pulls a sword from the captain’s personal weapon rack. The instant we duck out on deck, blades clash—with both Arthas and Tirion's. I stay behind the two, delivering precision strikes. I’ve plenty of moisture to make ice spikes with. One undead warrior hones in on us from the right. They take a swing at me and I dodge back. I barely get to shriek a warning before Arthas jabs them away. They're far more reluctant to engage her. She cuts their hollow chest and envelops them in magic. I've never seen anything like it before—it glows green and has a sour scent, and it leaves them writhing and gasping for air they don't need.

   We both spot her at the same time, leaping onto the bowsprit. Her red gaze meets Arthas'. I stare up at her. She barely gets to bare her teeth before her eyes erupt in a blue blaze. My breath catches in my throat.

   "Arthas, hold on—" I urge, but she's already striding towards her. She pushes Tirion out of the way and marches through the melee. The forsaken jump out of the way of her advance, but the Argent soldiers don't see her coming. She bump into them or simply tosses them out of her way. That's when the forsaken descend upon them. Keeping up with her, I engage in as many battles as I can. Shield one soldier, freeze an undead, pierce another. I can barely keep up—with any of them. It's a battle of damage control and prevention. With Tirion at my side, at least we share the burden.

   Arthas stops her advance just a few feet from Sylvanas—she's yet to make a single move. A grim smirk spreads across Arthas' face.

   "I knew you would return sometime, my most terrible daughter. They all do, in the end," she says. But there's no sign of her in that voice. All I hear is the Lich and its booming reverb. Sylvanas' face draws into an even gloomier grimace, if possible.

   "Mark my words, monster. This time, you're not leaving alive," she says, fanged teeth clenched. The Lich laughs—a sound that sends shivers down my spine.

   "Oh, dear Sylvanas, you misunderstand. You cannot stop death itself," she drawls. Sylvanas scoffs and flings a dagger at her. She deflects it with her sword. Sylvanas repositions, balancing herself on the railing. She draws her bow and shoots an arrow at her chest. It bounces off of her chest plate. A small group of Argent warriors keeping the Forsaken at bay is once again between the two undead queens.

   “Come on, freak!” Sylvanas growls. Arthas readies her blade and powers through them. The Forsaken move around her, yellow and black eyes trained on her, shoulders up around their ears. Our own troops are knocked off balance—physically and no doubt mentally.

   Were it not for me, they'd likely have been overwhelmed. A quick whack to some heads and a few precision ice spikes buy them time to recover and fight back. Tension in my stomach peaking into nausea, I observe Sylvanas repositioning and drawing Arthas with her once more. Always with people in-between them. I can't damage control every encounter. There's no doubt in my mind that every single part of this is on purpose. I don't have to look far to find Tirion—he dashes onto the scene, providing his soldiers vital back-up. I freeze an undead. He cuts them down.

   "Tirion!" I hiss. He glances at me once the undead stop squirming. "Gather up a little squad and protect your soldiers! Sylvanas is using her against us right now," I explain, glancing in their direction. Sylvanas is on the move again. So far, she's been avoiding Tirion like the scourge. "If you take care of your troops, I'll handle these two. I think she's avoiding you, so if push comes to shove it's three against one," I say, words pouring out as soon as they present themselves in my mind.

   "Fine, but be careful!" he says, his tone of voice sounding just a bit like my father's. With a single nod, I take off towards Arthas. "If you need my help, don't you dare hesitate!" His final sentence fades against the cacophony of shrieks, growls, and clashing steel.

   Without any people to use as obstructions between them, Sylvanas fires a flurry of arrows at Arthas. Not once does she aim at her head. They all bounce off of her chest plate, her bracers, her sword. She's about to fire another. With a flick of my wrist, I coat the floor in ice. She hops onto the railing that very second. As if she saw it coming. I bend my fingers into a claw-shape. The ice layer cracks and becomes thick flakes. Stretching my hand out, they fly towards her. She shields herself with her forearm. Relocating again, she ends up closer than ever. Arthas reaches out towards her. Magic seeps from her fingers—the same kind of magic she used on the dark ranger a few days ago. Vibrant, but dark as the void at the same time. She stumbles on the railing. Clinging to it, she recovers enough to leap up near the helm.

   Now that she's finally still, I grab on to Arthas' arm.

   "Arthas, listen—" I say, voice barely more than a whisper. She pulls it from my grasp so violently, my fingers ache against the edges of her armour. She glares down at me. Her cold, emotionless gaze sends shivers down my spine.

   "Arthas, listen to me," I continue, keeping my voice as calm as I can. "I know you want your revenge, I know, but you're hurting everyone else right now. Try to stay level-headed, okay? I know you can, so please—"

   “Oh, _she_ wants revenge?!” Sylvanas exclaims from the helm. She shoots another arrow past her neck. It ends up hitting a soldier on the other end of the ship in the shoulder. Clenching her jaw, she presses her eyes shut. Her hands are balled up into fists, trembling with unused force. A low growl escapes her throat, a chilling sound coupled with her reverb. She grabs her head, fingers sinking into her hair. She bends over. Her face is in a pained grimace, glowing eyes visible behind her shut eyelids.

   A grim smile flashes across Sylvanas' face. She fires an arrow that emanates dark magic. I hold my breath. The temperature drops. I raise my hands and throw up a broad wall of ice. It catches the tail end of the arrow, stopping it mere inches from her face. This time, she aimed directly at her skull.

   Arthas sinks to her knees, dropping the sword by her side. Both of her hands clutch her head tightly, as if she's trying to contain an explosion. Her breathing is uneven and she's shaking. Crouching down beside her, I gently stroke her back and whisper soothing words in her ear. It’s almost like a chant, an incantation of love that just might help ground her.

   Finally, she draws a sharp breath and fumbles to get a hold of her sword. Still quivering, she heaves herself to her knees.

   "Are you okay?" I ask. There's only the faintest of glows to her eyes now. She shakes her head.

   "No. No, but it—it doesn't matter now. It’s fine," she says, voice as ragged as her breath. I reach my hand out towards her. She takes it and I stabilize her as she rises to her feet.

   "It matters to me," I say. Our attention shifts towards the loud whistle Sylvanas makes. Pulling her fingers out of her mouth, she grabs on to the railing with a smirk that makes me clench abs I barely have. A dozen seconds pass like a fraction. The undead warship changes course again. It pushes into us—harder this time. Pressing into our side, the entire ship tilts. Wood creaks all around me. As it does, we grab on to whatever we can. Arthas settles against a wall and I prop myself up against cargo crates. Several soldiers grab on to the railing as Tirion barks out orders. My heart beats like a thundering drum. I can feel it furiously pumping in my chest.

   When she decides the ship has tilted enough, Sylvanas hops onto the railing. How she manages to stay balanced is beyond me. She stalks along the length of it, stopping after a good few meters. Her gaze falls upon the crooked deck. Drawing the saber from her side, she positions herself like a panther ready to pounce. What she reaches out and grabs isn't a person, to my surprise. It's rope—and she cuts it in half. With their only tethering severed, a stack of crates begin to slide across deck. That slide soon turns into plummeting.

   "Be careful!" I shriek. "The crates!" I get to say no more before she cuts another rope—this one belonging to the main sail. She lets herself be pulled up and around with it and I lose sight of her. The falling crates topple a few soldiers. Then they crash into more cargo. Crate upon crate come loose to create an even greater avalanche. Tirion is leaning against the very edge of the sea-bound railing. His eyes widen, taking in the oncoming assault.

   He doesn't move to get out of the way. Instead, he shoves his soldiers to safety. The weight of the cargo lands squarely on Tirion. The railing comes apart. Splinters fly in every direction. He crashes into the dark sea with that weight on top of him and disappears from my sight within seconds.

   "Tirion!" I shout and cuss under my breath. I press my lips together. The tension in my stomach hardens. Like coal turning into diamond underneath a mountain range, it becomes a surging fire. I take a sip of mana potion and throw myself at the railing above me. I reach out towards the sea. With my hand, with my emotions. A gasp escapes my throat when I feel someone push against my legs. Arthas has taken up my former position to prop me up and stabilize me. I can't help but grin at her—an expression that she returns. Then I refocus.

   Energy wells up within me. My breath turns shallow. The ocean surrenders to my will. My elemental emerges out of its waters, standing far taller than the undead ship. The few arrows fired at it merely sink into its body. I exhale. My elemental smashes its enormous fists onto the Forsaken deck. Several undead are flattened. Channeling all this energy, my fingers feel numb. As do my toes, my knees, my tongue. If it wasn't for Arthas, I'd have fallen. My elemental reaches down, below the waves. It picks up the ship by the bow. Hugging it in its grasp, it crushes the hull. Several bats take the opportunity to dash out of the new cracks. Then it slams it back down on the surface—on its side—and water splashes into my face.

   Our ship tilts back. My stomach drops. I reach my hands out and press my eyes shut, holding my breath so as to not vomit. Before we tilt back too far to the other side and people get hurt, my elemental catches the ship. It tips it neatly back into position. The ship settles with a violent thud. I collapse. It bursts back into the ocean. For just a moment, I'm limp. My sight blurs and my ears are ringing. Then I feel her cold grasp around me—around my aching muscles. Hands shaking, I search for the rest of my potion. Her hand brushes against mine and before I know it, she's putting it to my lips. The sweet syrupy liquid slips down my throat. From one moment to the next, I'm wide awake and staring into her face. She looks at me like one would a vengeful goddess.

   Just above us, Sylvanas drops from the mast. Her saber is drawn and her course is clear.

   "Move!" I shriek as I shove Arthas aside. She'd followed my gaze and turns the push into a dodge. Sylvanas lands directly in front of me and rolls aside. She's upon Arthas in a flash. Their blades clash and Arthas dodges further back. I push myself to my feet, despite my aching muscles. Arthas parries her every move. And Sylvanas parries right back. With her free hand, Arthas channels her jade magic. Sylvanas gasps and stumbles. I form a flurry of ice shards and fling them at her. She rolls aside just in time. I throw another as fast as I can. It dashes past her, but nicks her upper arm. Wincing, she dives for Arthas anew. The distraction granted her better footing.

   I put down an ice slick under her feet. She leaps away, reaching for her bow. Firing a quick flurry, I shield Arthas with ice. My arms are already shaking so much, I can barely aim. As it turns out, I don't have to. Sylvanas is about to land in a water puddle—the spray from her ship. At the last second, I turn it to ice. She finally slips. It's a hard landing on her hip, her shoulder, and her cheek.

   Arthas descends on her and pins her down. Sylvanas throws her bow aside and reaches for her saber. She drives it through her throat. A shriek pushes out of my lungs. Her eyes flash blue. I take a step towards her, then another, and I can't feel my knees. Her breathing's stopped. With her jaw clenched, she pulls out the blade and tosses it overboard. Curling her fingers, her vibrant magic seeps from them. The vapours dig into Sylvanas’ flesh, as if she’s constraining her with them. She draws a scream from the Banshee Queen’s lips. Before my very eyes, the gaping wound in her throat closes. Shivers trickle down my spine. Now it’s Sylvanas who’s left shaking.

   She kicks Arthas off and they both scramble to their feet, Arthas rubbing the healed area with a wince. Sylvanas thwacks her across the face with her bow. Arthas kicks her further back. I take a step forward, reach my hands out. Air swirls around me and a gust of icy wind blasts towards Sylvanas. She only notices once it’s too late. She leans away to dodge, but the blast catches her and throws her off the side of the ship.

   “Sorry—” I mutter, but she nocks an arrow on her way down. My breath stalls. I throw my arms up in front of me. My ice wall follows suit. But it clangs against Arthas’ plate and clatters to the ground when she leaps in front of me. We stare at each other for just a moment. A lingering gaze between clashing blades and dripping sweat and blood.

   I draw a ragged breath. Then we step around the ice barrier. We’re just in time to see Sylvanas climb onto a fleeing bat. She pays us no mind whatsoever while she pulls a few fellow undead from the wreckage of the ship. Then she disappears into the fog with them. The remaining undead round up the last of their alternatively living troops to rescue them on bats as well.

   I look around. Most of the boarded Forsaken lie lifeless on deck—but we’ve no doubt sustained more than a few casualties ourselves. A few battles are yet being fought. Battles that we seem to be winning.

   I twitch when she presses her cold lips against my cheek.

   “Don’t put up the sail yet, okay?” she says and squeezes my hand. I furrow my brows at her with a pout. She draws a deep breath, sprints across deck, and jumps off the side.

   “Arthas!” I shout. “What the—” My sentence devolves into a loud groan. I run after her and press myself up against the railing to look down. The last of my breath leaves my lungs. She’s gazing up at me from beyond the waves. In the clear, dark sea, her hair is weightless while her armour pulls her down. She’s like an ocean ghost, gleaming like weightless fresh snow on a dark glacier, peeking through the fog tendrils—the only source of light in the sea. I can see her smile from here. We stare at one another for a handful seconds, until she sinks into the depths and disappears from sight.

   Now we’ve a small army of Argent soldiers up against a mere three undead. The mage seizes the opportunity and jumps overboard. They quickly make it away in the opposite direction, but not before one of our lieutenants shoot an arrow into their calf. We make quick work of the rest—they’re far too desperate and making fatal mistakes.

   “Okay, so. We’ll want to round up the casualties, make sure everyone’s been treated—or is _getting_ treated. And then we’ll take stock,” I tell the lieutenant. At that moment, waves on the ocean surface catch my attention. Or rather, splashes. Even from this distance, I can recognize Tirion’s head and flailing arms.

   “Tirion! Over here!” I shout and throw myself against the railing. “We need a—a rope ladder or something over here!” I tell the soldiers who run for one specific crate for the purpose. Meanwhile, I urge the waters to bring him closer. It’s all I can do at this point—my entire body is aching. At least his swimming helps. The soldiers toss a rope ladder over the railing.

   “Here!” I shout. As soon as he reaches the nearest rung, he grabs on like a frightened, wet kitten. For a few moments I simply stare at him, waiting for him to start climbing, tension building in my gut. Instead, the Argent soldiers start pulling. Everyone who’s able to grab on does so. Even if I could help, there’s no room for me to do so. It only takes half a dozen seconds for them to pull him up onto deck—upon which he collapses, gasping for air. Paladins and priests are upon him in mere moments, light trickling from their fingertips and into his back. He's no longer covered by plate mail, likely having shed it to swim back up. I kneel down by his side.

   “Are you okay?” I ask, eyes wide. He coughs once.

   “I—yes—I think so,” he says, his voice strained and mushy. He coughs again. “I—I think—it’s so blurry, but… she cut me loose, I think. She…” He hesitates, grasping at his chest. “My armour… I think I was drowning. She passed me air. I remember _that_ ,” he concludes. The tension clutching my heart lifts. I can’t help but smile.

   "Jaina, I don't think she's going to make it," he says, voice very small. One of the paladins stop healing for just a moment to look up at him—I recognize her mousy face from the forest.

   "Oh. But. No, no, she doesn't need to breathe. Right?" she says and looks up at me instead. I nod, smiling wider. Tirion rolls his eyes and lets himself relax, collapsing on deck like a human pancake.

   "Of course she doesn't," he whispers. I stare out at sea. The broken Forsaken vessel makes no move anymore. There are no semi-living bodies scurrying across deck.

   "Put up the sail again and let's keep moving. Just in case," I tell the soldiers. "Our path to the docks is straight ahead from here, right?" One of the lieutenants nod.

   "Yes, but shouldn't we recover her first?" they ask.

   "If she drops her armour, she'll be right back up," the paladin adds. I raise my brows and tilt my head at them.

   " _Would_ she though?" I ask. They fall silent. I let a quivering sigh escape my lips.

   "I'd try to pull her back up, but if I can't see her..." I say, letting my sentence trail off. They don't have to know that my body feels like sore jelly despite chugging mana potions. A sting pierces my stomach at the reality of leaving her down there, and I press my lips together.

   "It was very dark down there. Or I was losing consciousness," Tirion adds, his last sentence a mere muttering. I fasten my grip on the railing. If I can't retrieve her, perhaps I've still the strength to leave a trail.

   "Set sail. She'll find us, I promise you that," I state.

 

No matter how many times I see it, I'll never get used to seeing corpses covered with cloth. Needles have been jerking around in my stomach for as long as we've been rounding up the casualties. At this point, the syrupy liquid in my stomach is threatening to exit the way it entered—despite being back on solid ground. It gets better once I sit down. The nausea disappears almost entirely when I start counting the waves. Counting the seconds. How long it's been since she plunged into the ocean. The nausea returns.

   I run my gaze up and down the beach. It's long and unbroken—by my calculations, I can see a handful of kilometers in each direction. The Argent soldiers glance at me, as if I was yet another unstable prisoner. They even refused my help when I offered. If I had a mirror, would I be able to understand their hesitation?

   To my left, two dozen meters down, something stirs in the shallow waters. It barely gets a rise out of me. Just a few minutes ago I was fooled by a gull. But as I keep watching, scepticism gives way to a hammering heart.

   The white mass emerging from the sea is undeniably a head full of hair. Wet, white hair that clings to her face. I scamper to my feet, stumbling on the shifting sand, and set off towards her. As she strides further onto the beach, she unravels herself from tendrils of seaweed. It's wrapped around her armour and slithered into every nook and cranny. Her movements border on flailing as she tears it off and tosses it back in the sea. When the water reaches only her calves, she picks her hair out of her face and wrings all of it like you would a soaked dishtowel. Water pours out of it—and out of her armour.

   Sand gets in my boots. I kick them off, having already untied them, and keep running. I don't even care that coarse, rough sand gets in-between my toes. Or that my muscles beg me to stop. I can't stop. I won't.

   "Arthas!" I manage to shout around my ragged breathing. Her face cracks into a wide smile when she catches sight of me. She jogs the rest of the distance towards me, limbs heavy. My attempt to leap into her arms fails. I crash into her instead. She catches me as I topple her and we fall onto the sand together.

   "Sorry! Sorry," I say, breathing heavily. The hard fall hasn't affected her smile in the least.

   "Hey, you," is all she whispers. I return her expression. But pressure tingles in the corners of my eyes.

   "Don't do that again. Please. Don't ever leave me like that again. Don't just take off without—without explaining," I say. Tears form under the pressure. They cling to my eyelashes instead of dripping onto her face. She gazes up at me wide-eyed, perusing my face. Taking in every single one of those tears.

   "Sorry," she breathes. A weak, wavering smile creeps back onto her face. "I'm sorry. I'll do better," she says. I nod at her, a few tears finally letting go. "And I'll make sure to announce any dumb plans of mine at least twenty minutes before I execute them." I can't help a giggle, and she mirrors the laugh. The sound eats away at the tension in my shoulders and stomach—and the tears in my eyes.

   "You dramatic bitch," I mutter, shaking my head. She snorts and throws her head back, as much as she can, to laugh properly.

   "You got me there," she says, voice bouncing with laughter. I lean down on top of her and press a kiss to her lips. She closes her eyes. Cups my cheek in one hand and my waist in the other. She smells like the ocean—salty and fresh. Alive.

   "You taste like the sea," I say and brush a few stray, wet strands of hair out of her face. Her smile turns crooked.

   "Do I now? Wow. My goodness, but that _is_ surprising," she teases. I poke her shoulder with another giggle. I just can't help myself. Rolling off of her, we both push ourselves to our feet. It's something of a struggle, especially in the sand. The entire front of my robe is soaked now.

   "Are you sore, too?" I ask. She gets to her feet with a groan, rolls her eyes, and reaches out her hand to help me all the way up.

   "If I never go swimming again, it'll be too soon," she grumbles. Clearing his throat, Tirion compels us both to turn and face him. Arthas straightens her back and wipes away her smile—but he sticks out his hand to shake hers.

   "Arthas," he starts, his tone of voice solem. "Thank you. For your assistance," he says. She hesitantly shakes his hand. "Wouldn't have made it without you." Pressing her lips together, she nods once.

   "Anytime," she says, but her voice is too high-pitched to really sell the quip. I grab onto her other hand and give it a squeeze.

   "Yes, well, let's hope it won't be necessary again anytime soon," he grumbles. She leans to the side, staring at the covered corpses.

   "You know, I could, uh—" She wets her lips. "I could fix that. So to speak. If you'd like me to, of course," she mutters. He follows her gaze, eyes widening when they settle on his dead subordinates. He clenches his jaw, gaze dropping to the sand for just a moment.

   "I—I'd rather consult their wills before we do anything rash," he says and smoothes out his beard. Despite the fact that he's dry now, he still looks a little bit like a dissatisfied, wet cat. He clears his throat and turns back towards the ship. "But I appreciate the sentiment," he says under his breath. As he strides away from us, Arthas relaxes in my grip and demonstratively lets out a breath she'd been holding. I stand on my sandy tippy-toes and press a kiss to her wet cheek.

   "I told you you could do it," I whisper.

 

*

 

The little room is dusty and riddled with signs of wear and tear. The windows have cracks, the windowsills are ashen and weathered, and the heavy old curtains crookedly hang off of their curtain rods. The bed has neither sheets nor blankets and looks like it could use a new mattress. Badly. Arthas saunters towards the windows, leans on the sill, and gazes outside. I sit myself down on the bed.

   "For a freebie abandoned castle, this is pretty decent, isn't it?" I muse, swinging my legs back and forth. Arthas grins.

   "Some new curtains would really make all the difference. I'm thinking a yellow tartan print. Oh, or little flowers!" she says. I snort.

   "Don't, it'll look like some grandmother's beach house," I say.

   "Maybe I am a grandmother. Maybe this is my huge beach house," she quips.

   "Well, tell grandma that she needs to work the feather duster," I say as I run my hand over the mattress and examine the piles of dust on my fingers.

   "I'll do my best," she says with a smile, gazing out of the large windows. "At least there's sunlight up here," she muses. Said light caresses her pale, angular face.

   "I'll vouch for you as best I can. Tirion should be a whole lot more receptive now," I say, tilting my head at her. "And I'll try to get you some curtains. That shouldn't be too difficult." She winks at me with both eyes.

   "Thank you," she breathes.

   "As long as you can control—" my voice stalls for a second, like an engine that won't start, "the Lich, then you’ll be an amazing ace up our sleeve," I say. She sighs and clenches her jaw, a single shadow dancing across her cheeks.

   "I think I can," she mutters. I press my lips together, but smile at her nevertheless.

   "I don't think he's going to like a 'maybe', though," I say.

   "Then tell him I'm absolutely certain," she says and crosses her arms. "I'm _mostly_ certain anyway. But, well, you know how it is." I gaze down at my hands. The sunbeams shimmer across my golden brown skin.

   "I do know," I say. "That little sting of doubt at the back of your mind."

   "Yeah," she mumbles, gazing at me, perusing my face.

   "That's probably for the best. It'll keep you on your toes," I say. She snorts and breaks into a crooked grin.

   "How very pragmatic," she says. I can't help but return her grin. "You know, I could swear that sting used to be so much smaller. Almost kind of dull in comparison," she says, making an exaggerated grimace. I laugh. It feels as though several kilos of tension is released with every motion.

   "I can believe it," I say as I giggle. She stretches, hands far above her head, abs peeking out under her shirt. Even now, the sight sends a surge of little butterflies through my body. Then she saunters towards the bed. Instead of sitting down with me, she merely stands beside it.

   "It's a strange feeling. Not having the world at my feet in some way anymore," she mutters, eyes fixed on the view outside. My smile falters a little, and my stomach cools.

   "Well. Look on the bright side," I say, voice gentle. "It'll build some character." She scoffs and turns to grin at me.

   "What a silver lining." Silence falls between us. I follow her gaze, feeling my every breath deeply. A few small birds dart past outside. They're going far too fast for me to tell what kind they are. They must live here, somewhere around her room and her window.

   Just as I open my mouth to speak again, she beats me to it.

   "At least you're here with me. That I can revel in," she whispers and sits herself down next to me. You'd think she was as light as a feather, so gently she lands. My smile trembles as I gaze upon her and my cheeks heat up.

   "Always have to revel in something, don't you?" I ask. She flashes a crooked smirk, crosses her legs, and leans back. The gaze she levels at me is surprisingly warm for a technically dead woman.

   "You know, had things been different, you could've been Princess Consort," she says. My smile widens. Then my heart skips a beat. The butterflies in my stomach go from fluttering to absolutely rampaging. My lips part and I stare at her, eyes widening by the second.

   "What?" I breathe. She furrows her brow.

   "What?" she asks.

   "You would've married me?" I whisper. Her smirk softens before she throws her head back and laughs.

   " _Would_ have?" she barks. It's as if my heart itself is tingling. Tears well up in my eyes and my lungs strain to keep up. I take her hand in mine.

   "Jaina?" she says, smile faltering as she takes in my expression. My lower lip quivers. I place my other hand on her cheek, lean in, and press my lips against hers. She puts her hand on my waist and leans into me. I don't even twitch at her cold touch anymore. I anticipate it. I anticipate her soft, icy lips and how her mere touch seems to envelop me. I could just melt away in her grasp.

   She ends the kiss prematurely. Instead, she buries her face in my shoulder and wraps her arms around me. Exhaling deeply, I hold her tight, rest my chin on _her_ shoulder, and feel her soft, muscular back. We breathe in each other's scent. Our presence. Her cold, meeting my radiant warmth and the electricity between us.

   “You’ve no idea how much I missed you,” she whispers.

   “Don’t I?” I whisper back.

   “I knew you were missing. I just knew. Even—even when…” she stammers, sentence trailing off. Squeezing her tighter, I hush her, turn my head, and place a kiss on her soft hair.

   “I’m here now,” I whisper. “And so are you.” At that, she relaxes in my grasp. I lean back and try to catch her gaze, though her forehead is solidly planted on my shoulder. “I can’t stay forever, Arthas. I have so much work to do out there. But I’ll be here with you as often as I can. As much as I can. Whenever I have a moment,” I say. I keep my voice low and gentle. She breaks our hug and sits up straight. She looks surprisingly serene, no hint of tears or trembling lips.

   “Thank you. You shouldn’t just be sitting here with me, anyway. You have a life to live out there,” she says and smiles at me—and there’s nothing crooked about it. It’s genuine and warms my heart like a mug of drinking chocolate. I place a kiss on the tip of her aquiline nose and lie down onto the squeaky, dusty bed. Arthas follows, holding her head up with her hand to gaze at me. As she looks me over, her brows furrow and a somber mien comes over her.

   “Jaina…” she starts, then heaves a sigh. “Assuming that I’m basically immortal—which, you know, is probably for the best, as we’ve established…” She smiles, but it doesn’t even begin to reach her eyes.

   “Mhm?” I hum, maintaining eye-contact.

   “You—you’re not,” she mutters. My stomach sinks as if an anvil had been dumped into it. I stare down at the mattress and pick at my short nails.

   “No. I’m not,” I whisper. I can hear her chew on her lower lip.

   “Then… this works _now_. I only have that sting of doubt.” She lets out a single hollow chuckle. “But how is this ever going to work when—without you?” she whispers. I clench my jaw, press my teeth together, and curl my toes. Then I intertwine my fingers with hers.

   “I don’t know yet. But what I do know is that we have a lifetime ahead of us to figure it out. A lifetime of progress and experience. And right now we’re doing fine. _You’re_ doing just fine. You’re here and you’re alive. And you’re with me,” I say. She regards me with eyes that finally have a wet sheen. “Right now it might seem like an impossible and overwhelming prospect, but we have dozens of years ahead of us to figure it out. We’ll be okay, Arthas.” A hint of a smile graces her lips. I scoot closer and roll over on top of her. Moving her is no small task, but she follows my movements as soon as she realizes what I’m doing. She stares at me wide-eyed, lips parted. I lean down on top of her and kiss her again. It leaves me breathless almost instantly, and I press my lips against hers so hard it almost hurts my teeth. My tongue ghosts across her lower lip as we part. I grin.

   “So. How would you like your dress?” I purr. She blinks multitudinously.

   “My dress?” she asks, confusion painted all over her face. I brush stray hairs out of her face.

   “Yeah. The one for our wedding,” I say. Her breath stalls. Then she giggles like a flustered princess.


End file.
